


Scalpel & Needle

by KalendraAshtar



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Complete, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn, Surgeons AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-04-07 20:46:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 39,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14089338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KalendraAshtar/pseuds/KalendraAshtar
Summary: Jamie and Claire are surgeons working together but they can’t see eye to eye. However, a secret admirer has found a special place in her heart.





	1. Rivalry

##  **_Part I - Rivalry_ **

“I’d be bloody thankful if you didn’t come into my OR like some kind of unwanted saviour and start to order me around!” Claire snarled, ripping off her surgical cap, her curls exploding in the air after sudden liberation, her hair bobble tearing with an audible  _“pop!”_. “I didn’t ask for your help!”

“The patient was crashing.” Jamie tried to explain, remaining eerily calm in spite of the angry woman facing him, looking like a rattlesnake ready to pounce. “Ye couldna possibly deal with all those bleeders. I thought a second pair of hands…”

“I already had a second surgeon!” She hissed, pointing at the frightened young resident who had sought refuge against the wall, clearly wishing to be swallowed by it – and away from the two galvanized surgeons. “I was in control, using the technique I prefer! But you decided to come and show off, like some goddam star!”

“I was only trying to help, lass.” He grunted, gripping his fists. His blue eyes were dark and dangerous, tumultuous seas waiting for ships to wreck on their waves. “It seems to me ye have a bit of a problem admitting when ye need help and it’s perfectly…”

“Oh, you bastard!” Claire roared, advancing to face him – even though he had the clear advantage of his imposing height. “Don’t you dare call me  _“lass”_ , as you do to the young nurses, melting them away to do your biding. Stop pretending you know the first thing about me! You just want to please the board, so they’ll give you the most challenging cases!”

“I couldna care less about the board,  _Doctor Beauchamp_.” Jamie said through clenched teeth. “Ye should be thanking me that the patient isna heading to the morgue - instead ye’re yelling at me like a mad banshee, because I wounded yer pride.”

Claire’s cheeks were throbbing with heat, her chest constricted with a fury she couldn’t even begin to understand. She raised her index finger and poked him on the chest, wielding it like a dangerous dagger. “Stay the hell away from me and my OR, Fraser. I mean it!”

“ _Mallaichte bas_! Fine!” He roared, raising his hands in exasperation. “I won’t meddle again, as much as I think ye might need it. Ye blind woman, stubborn as a mule…” And he reverted to clipped  _Gaidhlig_ , grumbling in a low voice as he strode down the hallway.

“Claire!” She heard the voice of her friend, Geillis Duncan, gaping at her with her mouth noticeably ajar. Claire was panting, her vision almost blurred from anger, as she contemplated James Fraser retreating with a cold satisfaction. “What’s this ruckus all about? Is something amiss?”

“Just my  _esteemed_  colleague, James Fraser, being an insufferable prick.” She glared at the other people surrounding her, frozen in contemplation of the spectacle, silently warning them to return to their own business. “I really don’t know how someone can be as egocentric, misogynistic, smug…”

“Well, don’t hold anything back, darling.” Geillis laughed, gently pushing her by the arm to a nearby resting room. “Yer feud with the man is becoming legendary. There’s probably people placing money to bet on yer next fight.”

“Someone has to show him he’s not even half as impressive as he fancies himself to be.” Claire puffed, filling a glass with cold water from the machine in the corner and drinking it down.

“Most people think him charming, Claire.” The nurse pointed, sitting on the small couch – a myriad of unidentifiable stains garnishing the old fabric. “A verra capable surgeon, kind and concerned with his patients, humble but with a sharp mind, and a brilliant sense of humour.”

“Damn Geillis, don’t  _you_  hold anything back either.” She rolled her eyes in disbelief. “One would think you very enthralled by the man.”

“Everyone – well, every lass and probably John Grey too – kind of is.” The redheaded girl gave her a mischievous smile. “That is one hell of a ginger fox, Claire. How can ye not want to ride that…”

“That’s quite enough, thank you!” Claire hawked and tried to tame down her revolting hair with her fingertips. “I happen to be immune to whatever spell he has been casting around here.”

“I just don’t understand why ye hate him so much.” The nurse looked at her with studying eyes, slightly biting her index finger, her nails a gaudy shade of pink. “Are you trying to conceal the fact that ye actually find him attractive?” She said in a soft voice. “I know that after Frank it’s hard for ye to…”

“Don’t.” Claire said in a serious voice, the shadow of a smile gone from her face. “Don’t say that. This has nothing to do with Frank. I just don’t see what you see, that’s all.”

“Alright, I’ll let the subject go – for now.” Geillis stretched herself like a cat and grinned, preparing to resume her work. “Drinks tonight at  _Leoch’s_?”

“Sure.” Claire nodded absentmindedly, already studying her next patient’s chart. “I’ll meet you there after I finish my colectomy.”

“Behave until then, ye hear me!” She warned Claire, leaving her alone to face another surgery.

****

Claire opened her locker, blood pulsing rapid inside her vessels, so much so she felt the tidal waves of blood on her temples. Like she had foreseen, a lonely envelope was there, a bit crumpled after being pushed through the small gap. With shaking hands and a smile of anticipation, she opened it.

_“It has come to my attention that you had a rough day. I’m sorry to hear it. I thought I would make it a little better – but this time I’m borrowing the words of a wiser man._

_«My struggle is harsh and I come back with eyes tired at times from having seen the unchanging earth,_

_But when your laughter enters it rises to the sky seeking me_

_And it opens for me all the doors of life.»_

_I hope to see it again soon. I shall miss your laughter every second you hide it away._

_~~With l~~ _ _Yours,_

_Scalpel”_

It had started six months before. On a day when night had forgotten to go away, leaving everything immersed in shadows, rain pounding over the roof like a furious fist banging.

She had lost a patient that day. She recalled it vividly, because it had been the first since she had moved to Edinburgh. Not only that – it had been a young woman, with the same hopes and dreams that she had, heart broken into a million pieces but still hopeful. Losing her had been like losing a piece of herself, an entire world shattered away under the lights of the OR.

Claire accepted the sympathetic words of her colleagues, the gentle hands that touched her back, assuring her that not every battle was meant to be won. But she had lost – so brutally, _so completely_ , so painfully. She walked to the locker room and bolted the door, allowed herself to cry on the floor, to sob until her heart had melted and gone away.

When she opened her locker to retrieve her things at the end of her shift, she had found a sketch there, pencil on paper like the tears on her cheeks. Someone drew a hand – elegant fingers with a thin wrist, which eerily reminded her of her own – holding a scalpel. And touching her palm underneath it, as if the fragile scalpel had been too heavy to hold on her own, a second hand helped her to hold it. The touching image – it had brought tears to Claire’s eyes – had been signed in a crooked handwriting.  _“Scalpel”._

The drawing had been on her nightstand since that day, a reminder that someone out there truly understood –  _knew_  – the loneliness of her work, the hardships she endured and how much she needed a presence to hold her when her strength failed her.

The second gift came a week after that – a pressed blue flower, perfectly preserved, clearly saved for quite some time between the pages of a book. Claire inhaled it, hungry for the perfume and words still trapped in it. A short note came with it –  _“Will you make a home for it with you? Scalpel”_.

After a few weeks – time in which she had received poems, caricatures and photos of landscapes – she decided that her secret friend – for the mysterious person clearly meant to forge a relationship with her through those small tokens – deserved an answer.

She had scribbled it at home, sitting at her desk – the pressed flower next to her, on top of an organized pile of paper – and left it lodged on the door of her locker, where he’d certainly find it.

_“Dear Scalpel,_

_I’m not sure why you think me deserving of such kind attentions, but I have to say you seem to read my mind! Not only I find everything you give me fascinating, but you seem to guess when I’ll need it the most. If someone ever told me I’d have a secret correspondent, I’d laugh and swear them insane. But in truth I find great solace in you and cherish every thought you spare me. Thank you for being a true friend – the more selfless kind._

_~~Cla~~ _ _Needle_

_P.S. – Of course you know my real name, but it seems only fair that the both of us would have secret code names. I’ve been told to be sharp as one - and equally resourceful.”_

And so their correspondence became two-sided. A week hadn’t gone by without a sign from him and Claire realized they were incredibly close – intimate, even. She had tried to suggest for them to meet and talk in the cafeteria – at least for him to reveal his name, so she could put a face on the person that meant so much to her. His answer had been concise and clear:  _“One day I’ll tell you everything. But not yet.”_

Claire placed the note on her pocket, where her fingers could brush it – touching it, savouring it through the next hours. She headed for the pub to meet Geillis – blissfully unaware of  _Scalpel_ ’s existence - wondering how one could be enamoured with a man made only of words on paper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem by Pablo Neruda


	2. Pipes and Drums

##  **_Part II – Pipes and drums_ **

“Are ye sure ye don’t want to dance?” Geillis screamed above the loud music, emerging from a group of bagpipes and drums performing at _Leoch’s_ small stage. The up-and-coming band was getting fairly famous in Edinburgh and the pub was filled to the brim with enthusiastic groupies, that went frantic at the first accords of “ _Fat Arsed Lass_ ”.

“I’m sober, Geillis”. Claire pointed, sipping from her dark and rich ale. “There aren’t enough pints in this joint to make me dance to  _that._ ” She raised a brow in amusement and her friend giggled, twirling her whiskey in the glass.

“Look who just arrived!” Geillis said cheerfully and somewhat darkly, as the pipes launched on a much-applauded rendition of a cover of “ _Highway to Hell_ ”. “Yer bestie.”

Claire looked over her shoulder to see James Fraser entering the pub, followed by John Grey and – to her dismay, since it meant the obligatory joining of the two groups – her own good friend, Joe Abernathy. However, she was fairly certain the  _“bestie”_ reference was nothing but a tease from her friend, knowing how little she appreciated the redheaded surgeon.

She knew they had been doing a complex domino kidney transplant, and their broad smiles indicated the procedure had been a complete success. A couple of nurses drinking on a booth close to the door waved at Jamie with salacious smirks – their lipsticks were a solid nine on a “fuck-me-against-the-wall-red-lipstick” scale -, clearly inviting him to join them, which he refused with a polite smile and a vague apologetic gesture towards John and Joe.

Claire rolled her eyes and blatantly looked the other way in a display of detachment, where two young men were well on their way to their first alcoholic comma.

“Hey girls!” Joe saluted them with his easy grin and expressive brows, patting Claire on the back to retrieve her attention. “It seems like we beat our previous time record on the transplant – time to pay up, ginger troublemaker.”

“Fine, fine.” Geillis waved her hand, her speech already a tad slurred. “Chose yer poison then, Abernathy. Ye may enjoy my generosity too, Fraser and Grey, as I’m sure Joe did nothing but help with the stapler”. The trio laughed and sat on the stools around the table, Jamie looking a bit reluctant when he realized that the only remaining seat was next to Claire.

They gulped on their chosen drinks and rocked their heads, following the rhythm of the contagious and lively music. Jamie seemed tense and coiled, barely moving his arms in order not to risk any contact with Claire, after an accidental graze made her almost snarl at him.

“Are you performing that gastrectomy tomorrow, Claire?” John asked, tapping his fingers on the table, his brows raised in apprehension. “I saw the scans earlier – nasty tumor, if I ever saw one.”

“Yes. I’m confident I can get a complete resection with that new approach.” Claire smiled shyly, already feeling the pressure of a difficult surgery building on the pit of her stomach. “The patient agreed with my plan”.

Jamie snorted audibly but quickly feigned a coughing bout, covering an unwelcome smile with his big hand.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Claire asked sharply, abandoning the pretence that he wasn’t actually present at the table.

“Nothing.” He shrugged, looking at her with intent blue eyes, mischief dancing in the pub’s dim light. “Have ye asked another poor resident to assist ye? Even if ye ken I’m the only other surgeon in the hospital trained in that technique?”

“I’d rather eat grass, filled with dog shit, than having you in my OR again, Fraser.” Claire said with venom, her glass almost jumping from her hand. “I don’t need you. Never have, never will.”

“Aye – ye do.” He tilted his head and faced her without preamble, their eyes clashing. “Ye’re just too pigheaded to admit it. Ye dinna like me and that’s fine – but ye shouldn’t allow it to hinder ye in being the best surgeon ye could possibly be.”

“Oh, you  _fucking_  –“ Claire growled, slightly raising from her seat. Geillis sighed and clapped her hands, breaking the moment.

“Ye two need to solve whatever is going on here.” She made a small circle with her hand encompassing Jamie and Claire, her green eyes shining in beguilement. Once, she had told Claire she descended from a long line of notorious Middle Ages witches, some of them she had managed to trace from birth to stake - in moments like those, Claire quite believed her. “Ye are ruining what could be a perfectly delightful time for everybody with yer bickering.  _Work it out_.” And with that phrase, like a teacher assigning homework to two particularly obtuse students, she dragged Joe and John to the dance floor, leaving the two antagonists alone.

Jamie searched for Claire’s eyes but she stubbornly looked the other way. They remained silent, two strangers casually sharing a table in a crowded bar. A couple of times Claire had the distinct feeling he was about to say something – but both times he pursed his lips and drank thirstily from his glass instead.

“Excuse me.” He said eventually, his voice low and hoarse. He crossed the pub, towering over the crowd, and heavily sat next to the nurses who were batting their eyelashes in his direction as if a sandstorm was approaching, placing their corneas in grave peril.

“ _Great_.” Claire whispered, feeling strangely hollow, a slight nausea building up in her stomach. The night was proving to be distant from the expected entertainment, but she couldn’t just leave – she had promised Geillis she wouldn’t allow her to go home with some stranger, after a bizarre episode that culminated with a missing shoe and a broken toe.

Joe, John and Geillis were laughing and dancing with linked arms. Claire contemplated the idea of joining them, but she felt tainted with something sour and queasy, unfit to be near joyful people.

“Hello.” A handsome dark-haired man greeted her with a kind smile. “How is a bonny lass like yerself all alone?”

“I’m with friends.” She shrugged, forcing herself to return the amiable smile. “They didn’t find my company all that pleasant tonight.”

“I can’t see how that is even a possibility.” His brown eyes crinkled when his grin widened. “Do ye want to dance?”

“Alright.” She offered him her hand, quickly glancing at the place where Jamie was sitting. His expression was guarded, a book with no hint of its tales in the cover, while one of the nurses chirped away leaning against him.

The stranger was easy-going and a fairly good dancer, leading her on a series of twirls that made her head spin and her stomach lurch. In spite of the pleasant conversation, Claire found herself silently reciting the words _Scalpel_  had written her that afternoon, the note securely hidden in the pocket of her jeans. She longed to read more, to pull at every letter and unfold his secrets like yarn unravelling, to ask him if he liked to dance and if he would like to dance  _with her_.

Absorbed in her thoughts, the kiss her lips received came as a complete surprise.


	3. The Enemy of my Foe

##  **_Part III – The Enemy of my Foe_ **

While quite some time had passed since the last time Claire Beauchamp had been kissed, she clearly recalled that awkwardness wasn’t a significant trait of a mind-blowing smack on the lips. It was supposed to make you forget things, not enlist you to relive a harrowing past.

Placing a hand on his chest she pushed him away, gently but firmly, raising a brow in inquisition. The lights had softened once the last song faded and Claire realized his eyes weren’t brown, as she had thought, but instead a deep bottomless grey.  

“I don’t think our acquaintance in the last five minutes can really justify a saliva exchange.” She said jokingly, trying to break his noticeable embarrassment.

“I’m sorry.” He brushed his face with long, pale, fingers. A charming rosy tone was blooming on his cheeks. “I dinna ken what got into me. I was just thinking how lovely ye are and I acted like an arse before I could stop myself.”

“No harm done.” Claire patted his shoulder in sympathy, maintaining a respectful distance just in case he was prone to more acts of recklessness. “The heat, some whiskey and cheesy music can do that to a person. I’m Claire by the way.”

Before the stranger could open his mouth to reciprocate with his name, she felt a slight tap on her shoulder.

“Is something amiss?”  James Fraser inquired, his imposing arms crossed against his chest. His mouth was pressed into a fine line. “Doctor Beauchamp?”

“I’m fine, Fraser.” Claire replied dryly, throwing him a quizzical gaze. “Just having a pleasant evening. You should go back to your… _erm_ … _company.”_

“Hello, James.” The dark-haired man greeted Jamie with a mordant tone. None of his previous warmth or gentleness could be found within his eyes. “Didn’t expect to find ye here.”

“That makes two of us, Tom.” Jamie said between teeth. His piercing blue eyes quickly glanced at Tom’s hand, still comfortably placed on Claire’s waist. “Ye were working in Glasgow, the last I heard about it.”

“Ah.” He smiled almost politely, but there was still plenty of sourness in the lines of his face. “I was invited to move here. I’m the new head of Psychiatry at the Royal Infirmary of Edinburgh.”

“You two know each other?” Claire crossed her arms, waiting for further explanation that neither offered willingly. “We are surgeons at the Royal Infirmary… _Tom_ , is it?”

“Aye.” Tom nodded, finally letting go of her waist, his fingers drifting slowly away. “My name is Tom Christie. We were classmates in Medical School, James and I. Very interesting times.” His lopsided smile was almost frightening and his lead-coloured eyes glistened, like cursed jewels.

“It’s getting rather late, Claire.” She glared at Jamie in surprise, given his previous history of avoiding her first name, a curtsy that she promptly imitated. “Ye have that important surgery tomorrow. Maybe we should be going.”

“What do you mean by “ _we_ ”?” Claire marked the word with a vague gesture of quotation marks.

“We live close to each other.” Jamie said defensively and shrugged, his neck acquiring a faint tone of red. “We might as well walk together”.

“I’d be most happy to take Claire home.” Tom offered, the tip of his fingers slightly brushing the back of her hand in enticement.

“I don’t really need a chaperone.” She explained in a clipped tone to both men, rolling her eyes. “And I don’t recall us ever walking together more than a hallway, Fraser. Besides, aren’t you already booked tonight?” Claire smirked in distaste and pointed to one of the nurses, clearly looking for Jamie through the small crowd gathered at the dance floor. “I’ll get Geillis and head home. Good night, Doctor Fraser. See you around, Tom.”

And she marched decidedly to look for her friend, before the redheaded woman could find a suitable victim for the night, leaving Claire stranded.

***

Thank God – or the deities of the gruelling OR schedule – the break room was blissfully empty and quiet. Claire sighed and let her forehead lean against the freshness of her locker’s door. She had slept fitfully, her dreams filled with phantom kisses which left her lips numb and cold, and betrayed blue eyes. Jamie’s behaviour the previous night had been puzzling; his hostility against Tom was palpable and utterly mutual, supplanting even their traditional bickering. But what truly baffled her was the way he seemingly had tried to protect her in some way – to make sure she got away from Tom at lightspeed.

Claire opened her locker in search of some aspirin for her headache and some deodorant, since her surgery had lasted what seemed like a lifetime, and she felt sticky and uncomfortable. A thick yellowish paper flew from her shelf, landing on her blue sneakers.

It was one of  _Scalpel_ ’s drawings, she recognized immediately. When she turned the paper, Claire gasped audibly.

As if she was looking into a strange mirror, capable of showing beyond her appearance into her very own soul, Scalpel had managed to portray the likeness of her eyes. The mixture of the yellow paper and pencil had captured the intense and generous butterscotch of her eyes. Framed by unruly curls, she could tell he had caught her on the verge of laughing, when the current of happiness coursed though her veins to ignite the engine of her smile.

Battling an overwhelming sense of vulnerability and the tears threatening to form in her eyes, she quickly read his brief words.

_“Needle,_

_I think the time has come for us to meet in person. A month from now, I’ll be at your door. Will you open it?_

_Scalpel.”_


	4. Mass Casualty

##  **_Part IV – Mass Casualty_ **

It seemed like she had just closed her eyes; her tired brain had yet to achieve the deepest of sleeps, where true rest awaited, and dreams could begin. Her phone went off, a rendition of the  _Skye Boat Song_ echoing in the shadows of the on-call room. Claire quickly sat on the bed, feeling mildly disoriented and grasping for the lamp that sat on the nightstand of her own bedroom, several miles away. Cursing between teeth, she fumbled to unlock the screen of her smartphone and read the text – “ _999\. All doctors to A &E_”.

“Shit.” Claire rubbed her eyes for clarity and raised, quickly tying her shoelaces, her fingers pointlessly trying to compose her wild curls. After a prolonged shift – covering for a colleague who had come down with chickenpox, another blessing of having small children -, she had finally found a few hours to take a nap, only to be so grossly interrupted.

“What happened?” Claire spotted John Grey, looking frazzled and worried, as soon as she entered the premises of the A&E department.

“Landslide on  _Arthur’s Seat_.” He shook his head in apprehension. The woman gulped, knowing that a sunny holiday meant that the slope and adjacent park were bound to be filled with hikers and families, enjoying a day out. “All the storms made the ground too fragile. It seems there was a school field trip taking place, so lots of children were there. Two dead on the scene, they are bringing at least twenty wounded here.”

“Christ.” She covered her mouth and closed her eyes, sending a wordless prayer to those whose life had ended so unfairly, so suddenly. “Where do you want me?” John was in charge of the A&E department, so he would be handing down work to every surgeon and doctor available.

“I’ll be doing triage at the door.” He informed her, gnawing at the back of his pen, furrowing his brow in concentration. “You can help Jamie handling the surgical cases. And please, Claire, no arguments – this is not the time. I mean it.”

“Right.” She gave him a weak smile and started the difficult task of collecting her hair on a functional bun, that would allow her to work without any obstacles.

Jamie was at a corner, putting on a blue gown over his scrubs, looking as unnerved as any of them. Claire walked to him, catching a pair of latex gloves along the way. “I’m with you.” She said simply, when he noticed her presence nearby.  He nodded and said nothing.

There was a moment of perfect silence in the A&E, when everything was so still the air seemed unbreakable. All doctors waiting, collectively holding in their breaths, searching for the wail of coming sirens, fearing the moment they would hear them. Fearing the defeats awaiting in a day when the sun had lured people to a river of suffocating mud. It was the calm before a perfect storm.

“Hold him steady!” Claire asked Jamie several hours later, attempting to clamp a spurting artery on a man’s thigh. The only colour left on his face were his freckles, shining bright on his pale skin, and he roared in pain. Jamie locked his powerful arm around him, keeping him in place while she worked. “It’s done. He can go to the OR now.”

“Nicely done.” Jamie complimented her, while scribbling on the chart before they moved on to the next patient. She shrugged off his words and approached the bed where a scared-looking boy laid, his head turning left and right like a fan, clearly in search of someone able to soothe him.

“Hello.” Claire addressed him softly, recovering his chart from the frame of his bed. “How are you feeling…Ewan - is that right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” The blonde boy replied almost inaudibly, his eyes downcast, while he twisted his hands in nervousness. “My left arm hurts.”

“Well, ye’re lucky then, because Doctor Beauchamp here happens to be an expert in arms. Aren’t ye?” Jamie looked at her from the corner of his eyes, with just enough mischief glinting there.

“Absolutely.” Claire threw him a warning glance, starting to gently palpate the boy’s elbow. “I’m Claire and this is Fras – James, I mean.”

“Are ye Welsh, Ewan?” Jamie asked in a conversational tone, while evaluating the pulse on his feet. “Yer accent seems like it.”

“I am, sir.” The boy seemed to bury himself on the mattress and almost jumped when Claire reached his wrist with her probing fingers.

“Ewan!” A dark-haired man appeared, looking utterly terrified. The boy emitted a slight whimper and almost dove into the man’s arms, hugging him fiercely. “Are you alright?”

“His arm is definitely broken.” Claire said with sympathy, stroking his perspired yellow hair. “He’ll need some cast, but fortunately no surgery.”

“Claire, may I have a word?” Jamie asked gravely. He was holding Ewan’s chart and he had gone alarmingly pale. “We’ll be back presently, lad.”

“What is it?” Claire asked exasperated, once Jamie dragged her to a corner of the A&E. The room seemed to be an angry hive, where furious bees tried not to produce honey, but to heal the injured. “I just want to finish this, Fraser, so I can get a shower and –“

“The lad is on the missing persons list.” He pushed the chart under her nose, where a red alert had been stamped once the boy had been identified. “His kidnapping was reported almost one year ago – taken from his mother by his own father, according to what’s written here.”

“That man?” She babbled, shocked, turning her head to look in their direction. The boy was clearly relieved to see his father, trampling himself with the urge to tell him every detail of his misfortune, and the man gazed at his son with what could only be described as adoration.

“We need to protect the lad.” Jamie insisted in a hoarse voice. “The authorities are busy dealing with the landslide. But when his entry was registered here they were alerted, so soon enough they will come for him.”

“Alright.”  Claire agreed. They marched back to the boy’s bedside, noticing how Ewan looked at them with fear in his eyes.

“Sir, we need to ask ye to step aside.” Jamie commanded in an assertive tone. There was subdued fury there, to be sure – but he was keeping it in check in order not to scare the child. “As soon as we are finished, someone will get ye”.

“You know.” He sighed, his hands trembling while he brushed his son’s arms. “Please, let me explain –“

“Yer crimes can’t be explained,  _sir_.” Jamie hissed, his blue eyes fierce and menacing. Claire realized that never, not in the utmost heated and ugly discussion they ever had, he had looked at her that way.  _With real anger, real distaste_.

“Can’t they?” The man’s lips were compressed into a thin line, but he looked unashamed. “I knew Ewan’s mother since we were children. I loved her even before I knew that feeling had a name. We married young and were very happy for a time.” He glanced at his son, who was playing with the corner of the sheet, looking entirely heartbroken. “She was clever, so she studied hard and became a successful lawyer. I didn’t have much of a head for school, but I was always good with my hands, and worked as a mechanic. But the life we led individually, eventually made as grow apart, so we divorced when Ewan was four. She had sole custody, but I was happy with seeing him at every opportunity we had.” He swallowed hard. “She married again, to an important judge. Two years ago, I discovered that he mistreated Ewan when she wasn’t around – going as far as to hit the boy. When I told her, she didn’t believe me –  _nor him_.” He held the boy in his arms, both silently crying. “When a child –  _your_  child – tells you something so terrible, no matter the cost, _you have to believe it_. No matter how hard the knowledge will make your life.”

“So ye took him.” Jamie said softly. “To protect him.”

“Yes. I knew their position would never give me a fair chance through justice. I asked him if he wanted to leave Cardiff with me, even if it meant living a dangerous life, and before I blinked he had his backpack ready.”

“Officers are coming for you.” Claire breathed deeply, a sob caught in her throat. “There is no way to stop it now. When his real name was used, a red flag was raised in the system. You need to escape.  _Now_.”

“Claire, they canna –“ Jamie protested. She turned to look at him, her shoulders square, her eyes fierce.

“Are you a coward, James Fraser?” Claire hissed under her breath. “Because you know this is the right thing to do. If you won’t help me, I’ll do it alone.”

“I  _was going to say_  that they canna leave without us treating his arm.” Jamie hissed back, two cats twisting for dominance. “I’ll take them through the personnel’s hallway and see to his arm while ye stall the police.”

“And how am I supposed to do that?” She crossed her arms, taken aback, biting her lip in anxiety.

“Be creative.” Jamie advised teasingly, wiggling his brows, while he transferred Ewan to a wheelchair. Fortunately, every nurse and doctor in the vicinities was entirely too busy to notice their suspicious activities. The three men had just disappeared around the corner when two policemen strode inside the A&E.  

“How can I help you, officers?” Claire asked sweetly, fluttering her lashes.

***

“Are they gone?” Claire asked him in a low voice, sitting near Jamie on the floor of the locker room. A couple of hours had passed before she went looking, not wanting to raise any speculations. The hospital was in shutdown since Ewan’s disappearance and the authorities were fine-combing every nook and cranny. She had endured ten stressful and uncomfortable minutes of reproach for allowing them to escape under her nose.

“Aye.” Jamie sighed and closed his eyes, his head leaning back against the wall. “What did ye do to keep the agents away?”

“Charm.” She replied laconically. “And when that failed,  _maybe_  I pretended to faint.”

“We actually make a good team.” He opened one eye to look at her, his face acquiring a comical frown, waiting for her horrified reaction.

“You are still a cocky bastard.” Claire said sheepishly, but she couldn’t entirely avoid returning his smile.


	5. Breathless and Shirtless

##  **_Part V – Breathless and Shirtless_ **

Claire opened the door of her apartment and almost crawled inside, panting and wheezing like an asthmatic cat on advanced age.

“The…next…time…you…invite me…to jog with you…I’ll be busy.” She puffed, glaring ominously at Geillis, who clearly wasn’t intimidated by minor displays of contempt.

“Ye can thank me later. All that  _pilates_  might be good for yer arse, but it willna help ye stand those twenty-four hour shifts. Got to work on your resistance, babe.” The read-headed woman drank thirstily from her pink water container, watching Claire stretching on the floor to fight against a muscle cramp.

“I’m sure it will be  _much_ later.” Claire limped to her kitchen, retrieving an ice pack from her fridge and applying it against her heated neck. “Will you stay for dinner, coach?”

“Nah.” Geillis smiled lazily, robbing a cinnamon cookie from an open jar. “I have to clean up my house, since my landlord will be paying a visit. Wee bugger pretends to inspect everything, but he just keeps staring at my tits.” She winked. “I forgot my jacket, Claire, will ye lend me one of yers? It will be a bit chilly on the street and I dinna want to catch a cold.”

“Sure.” Claire padded to the coat stand by the main door, followed by her friend, and handed over a brown leather jacket. “You can bring it back to the hospital tomorrow.”

Geillis put the coat on and, as she flipped her hair to tame the mass of red, filled with electricity after their workout, a folded piece of paper fell from the pocket and into the ground.    

“What’s this?” She retrieved the small note and, before Claire could stop her, started reading. “ _My Needle_ ,” Geillis looked at Claire with interest, which only raised when she noticed her friend’s obvious mortification. “ _I crown you, small monarch of my bones_ …” She whistled, her green eyes widening like flowers blooming. “This is intense. Do ye have a secret admirer, then?”

“I’m not sure it’s right to call him that.” Claire swiftly recovered the paper from the other woman’s fingers, irritation building up on her embarrassment. “But I have been corresponding with someone, yes. He also leaves me pressed plants, pictures and poems in my locker. And some drawings.” She added weakly, noticing her friend’s exhilaration.

“May I see them?” Geillis asked with unheard-of politeness and innocence. Grudgingly, even if a tad of smugness was also present, Claire went to her desk and opened the first drawer, where she stored her most prized possessions –  _Scalpel_ ’s drawings. “He calls himself  _Scalpel_.” She explained hurriedly, fidgeting with her hands, as if he could materialize in Geillis presence if she stood silent. “I don’t know his real identity.”

“He is actually pretty good.” The nurse sounded surprised, as she skimmed from his representation of a wave breaking on the rocks to Claire’s incomplete portrait, her eyes drawn in mystery. “Did he send ye a dick painting too?”

“Geillis!” Claire blurted, mortified.

“What?” She laughed, raising a brow. “He clearly wants to get in yer knickers, so might as well show ye what he’s got to offer. I bet his hands are huge and ye ken there is a relationship between the thumb…”

“Why are we friends again?” Claire shook her head, blushing madly, and fighting against laughter. “Sometimes I swear I forget.”

“Common interests and lack of alternatives.” Geillis shrugged and offered her a devilish grin. “Are ye meeting him? Please say ye are.”

“Yes.” Claire brushed her hair and whispered with a poor attempt at nonchalance. “We are supposed to meet in about three weeks.” She gulped. “ _Here_.”

“Lad moves fast.” Geillis giggled, delighted. “Don’t forget to wax, Claire. I’d definitely go Brazilian down there, if I were ye.”

“Leave.” She rolled her eyes and dramatically pointed to the door. “ _Now_. I’m reclaiming the spare key of my house and relinquishing any visitation rights to the potted plants I gave you.”

“I’m happy for ye, my friend.” The OR nurse kissed Claire softly on the cheek and then her emerald eyes looked at hers, very closely and remarkably serious. “Just don’t let him break yer heart, aye? I’d hate to see ye get hurt again.”

****

Claire absentmindedly opened the door to the on-call room, without any pre-emptive knocking, wondering if her wristwatch had been left there during her last graveyard shift.

“Sorry!” She uttered, when her eyes were presented with a vision of James Fraser, bare-chested – and probably seconds away from being pant-less -, clearly in the middle of the process of changing scrubs. “I thought the room was empty.”

If she would allow herself to look beyond her persistent irritation with the surgeon and his many shortcomings, Claire had to admit that she might see the appeal. The wildness of him, simmering just bellow the polished surface of an educated man, that made women dream. The intensity of his eyes when he was truly focused, the world reduced to a single thread of consciousness – oh, and what it would be like, if all his attention was devoted to simply touching instead of cutting?

“Dinna fash.” He said with naturality and unhurriedly started to dress his clean surgical clothes. Jamie was beautifully made, with broad shoulders and narrower hips, his muscles lean and well-shaped, akin to those found in the pictures of an anatomy book. On his chest - where scarce copper hairs could be found - and just above his heart, a small tattoo nestled – “ _Je suis prêt_ ” it read, in what seemed like someone’s personal calligraphy.

Jamie noticed her stare and his fingers lightly brushed the black ink, before he finally covered it with the blue shirt. “Seemed like a bonny idea when I was nineteen.”

“Drunk, were you?” Claire snarked. Jamie gave her a small smile and turned to fish his black stethoscope from the bed.

“My father had just died.” He said softly, his blue eyes hooded. “It’s the old clan Fraser  _motto_. I did it as a tribute to him.”

“A family man.” It wasn’t exactly a question but not entirely an affirmation either. He noticed it for what it was, but chose not to address it further.

“I have a duodenopancreatectomy in about an hour. I could use yer help.” Jamie proposed, mussing up his hair. Claire gawked at him, nonplussed, and he licked his lips before explaining. “Ye have more experience than me in the procedure and I could learn something from. Will ye help me, Claire?”

“Alright.” Claire said uncertain, after a moment. Trying to break the lingering tension created by her inconvenient remark about the tattoo, by brining them back to their usual and comfortable squabbling, she added. “At least now I know you can actually  _handle_  a needle.”

“Aye.” Jamie smiled widely and brushed past her, headed towards the men’s room to finish dressing. “Aye, I can handle a needle just fine.”


	6. Confessions of an Empty Glass

##  **_Part VI – Confessions of an Empty Glass_ **

Claire gulped down a generous portion of whiskey, as if she hoped to find absolution for all her sins hidden in the prolonged malting of cereals. It was the taste of Scotland itself, the tang of the life she had chosen for herself. The first thing which hadn’t been a reaction to catastrophic events - only to find another cataclysm on the road awaiting her, nonetheless.

When she asked for another refill - she honestly had lost count by the fifth time -  _Leoch_ ’s bartender hesitated, fearful of ending the night with a corpse leaning against his counter. But Claire was as generous with her pounds as with her whiskey, and soon enough all his doubts were quelled with a magnanimous tip.

“Doctor Beauchamp.” Claire heard a sensuous voice whispering nearby. Smiling drunkenly, she turned her head only to find James Fraser glaring at her. “Are ye alright?”

“Quite alright.” She babbled, her tongue seemingly having gained a life of its own. “Just letting my hair down after a long day, Fraser. Or I would if it wasn’t such a mess.” The female surgeon impatiently blew away a stubborn curl.

“Hm.” He acquiesced, with a deep noise coming from his throat. “Ye seemed really distraught after we lost that lad today. I just wanted to make sure nothing was amiss.”

“Fine and dandy”. Claire hiccupped, tapping the counter with her fingers to demand attention from the bartender. Her glass was dangerously low on liquid forgetfulness.

“Do ye want me to call one of yer friends?” Jamie insisted, his body close to hers, as other customers were arriving for evening drinks. He seemed truly concerned, his eyes alight with something she couldn’t quite place. “I’m sure Geillis wouldna mind.”

“ _I would_.” She said with a giggle, leaning towards him. “She would see right through me and try to psychoanalyze me. I don’t need that shit.” Claire scratched her arm, annoyed with her own bracelet. “I know perfectly well this is about Frank. Do you know that Frank almost rhymes with schmuck, Fraser? It took me a long time to realize that.”

“The thought had ne’er crossed my mind, lass.” He sighed and waved towards the bartender, so he could get a proper drink. They sat in companionable silence, as two strangers having a date with a hot glass of booze, enamoured beyond the ability of speaking.

Before Claire could stop herself, words came pouring out, from a hollow place inside that even the powerful drink couldn’t touch.

“I was gutted by the loss of that man.” She nodded a couple of times, marking her declaration. “He reminded me of my fiancé, Frank. A young, dashing, man dying in a car accident - how could he not, really?”

“I see.” Jamie added in a low voice. He waited in silence, offering her the chance to construct her thoughts - she clang to it, as if to a life raft.

“I wonder if this one also leaves a trail of nothing but wreckage to show for his life.” Claire whispered with a touch of venom. Her eyes were hazed, and she moved her index finger, coaxing him to lean closer to her, which he did without protest. “Frank died two weeks before our wedding. H _e wrecked me_. I was a widow even before I became a wife.” She closed her eyes, battling a wave of sudden nausea. “I grieved him  _deeply_. And then one beautiful day, while packing his clothes for an institution, I found the letters of his lover.” She smiled, even knowing the joke was on her. “Who writes  _letters_  anymore?” Claire shrugged and laughed ruefully, draining her glass of the last droplets. “Well, Frank did, the romantic bastard. Just not  _to me_.”

“I’m sorry.” Jamie said simply, his hand coming to the small of her back to stabilize her - she was wobbling, a leaf lost to the raging winds of sorrow.

“I  _hated_ him. And I hated who he forced me to become - someone who hates a dead man.” She sniffled, fishing for a handkerchief inside her overcoat’s pocket. “Death revealed him to me in an uncanny way - a totally unrighteous way. I couldn’t punch him or yell. I couldn’t argue because he was _already_  dead - I couldn’t be more avenged  _than that_  and I still wanted revenge. I lost him - and then I lost love.”

“Are ye still grieving love, then?” Jamie asked with a gentleness that didn’t felt like prying at all.

“I don’t think I forgave love, actually.” Her lips quivered, battling back ancient tears, sorrows buried without a proper headstone.  “Or myself. Maybe that’s why I had that patient today. So I can examine all of this again.”

“I’m glad ye told me.” He brushed this thumbs against each other in a pensive manner.  Claire suddenly remembered Geillis’ words about the proportionality of certain bodily parts - by all accounts Jamie’s thumbs were huge, and she blushed, attributing her wantonness to about a dozen drinks over the sensible limit.

“I don’t know why I did.” Claire shrugged, playing with a stray curl, struggling with a sense of growing discomfort. “I don’t even like you, even if you are being actually tolerable right about now.”

“I see ye are feeling more like yerself.” Jamie laughed - a sound so pure and warm, something broken inside her seemed to be glued back together, as if he had shared liquid glue with her chest. “Besides, I already knew about it, Claire. I’m just glad ye found it in yerself to tell me.”

“You did?” She said, slightly ashamed. Her eyes drifted to a couple of men sharing beers on the other extremity of the counter. One of them was Tom Christie.

“Aye.” He raised his brows and whispered closely.  The heat of whiskey grew inside her, almost hurting, like a hot rod searching for truth inside her. “Nurses talk a lot and Geillis talks more than most.” Claire felt even more apprehensive now that she had shared  _Scalpel_ ’s existence with her friend. Better threaten her with a long and painful death.

“Gossip, gossip.” She croaked mildly, closing one eye to better look at the bottom of her glass. “No wonder your sutures are hideous, Fraser. All that wasted time, canoodling with feminine hormones.” Claire noticed Tom’s eyes, intent on her from across the room, a wolfish smile beckoning her.

“Do ye want me to go, Claire?” Jamie’s tone was serious, without any vestige of playfulness. His gaze was on Tom Christie, who clearly wasn’t happy with their nearness. Claire looked at the dark-haired man, shamelessly evaluating him. An eternity had passed since the last time she had been thoroughly fucked and an orgasm could dissipate all her lingering dark feelings. She was fairly sure the psychiatrist would volunteer for the task, her being willing.

“You don’t like Tom Christie, do you?” She asked openly, without any embarrassment. Jamie eyed her, judging the merit of an answer.

“There’s no love lost between us.” He conceded, his blue eyes fathomless.

“And yet, you are willing to go, knowing I might leave with him afterwards and take him to my place?” She quirked a brow in question, slowly - and frankly, quite unsteadily - raising from her seat.

“Yes. If that is truly what ye want.” He avoided her eyes and finished his drink, getting up. “If that is what ye need to stay whole.”

“What I need is an aspirin and a toilet.” Claire confessed, starting to walk away. Noticing that Jamie didn’t follow her, she looked at him above her shoulder. “Will you walk me home, Fraser?”


	7. Second Best

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the lovely feedback! You guys keep me going :) X

##  **_Part VII – Second Best_ **

The streets were weirdly silent since the hour wasn’t particularly late, with only a few stray cars purring towards home. The prospect of a long weekend, following a holiday, compelled an exodus of Edinburgh’s inhabitants in search of warmer places, like migratory birds flying to meet spring; or towards the thrills promised by the moors of Scotland.

Jamie and Claire walked together, although maintaining a safe distance from each other, an imaginary rubber band keeping them apart – and tense enough to snap. The space between them disappeared only in the moments when Jamie helped Claire, as she tripped over or wobbled dangerously.

“Can I ask you a question?” She asked in a slurred voice, closing an eye as if she could zoom in on him to better perceive his reaction.

“Of course.” Jamie agreed with a complacent smile, adjusting the collar of his jacket.

“Do you have other tattoos?” Claire blurted, bumping his chest clumsily, her cheeks covered with a rosy colour turned almost silver by the moonlight. “I’m sorry if it’s an inappropriate question,” She laughed, rubbing her face. “But I wanted to ask since that day I saw you naked. Well, not naked  _naked_. Just not entirely dressed.  _Un-dress-ed_.” She rolled her tongue, the word feeling funny and foreign on her tongue. “ _Do you_?”

“Nah.” Jamie snorted, gently pushing her to the sidewalk as her trajectory got closer to the side of the road. She felt his perfume, mitigated by the long hours working, but still rich and earthly, like a mouthful of a garden in the early summer days. “Just the one. Probably it will be my one an ’only. Canna think of something I’d want on my body forever.”

“Ah.” Claire bit her nail, looking around to try and make sense of her surroundings. All buildings looked exactly the same, even if she had the faint notion they should be arriving. “Luckily, it never occurred me to tattoo Frank’s name on my arse or anything. That would have been a major regret.”

He laughed, again. In her state of drunken honesty, Claire acknowledged she was pushing herself, trying to be witty and funny, just so she could hear that throaty sound again. It was a mystery, the reason why that sound shook her so – and like a good scientist, she tried to replicate the experience and study all variables, until she could come to a bulletproof conclusion.

“Can I ask ye something in return?” He said casually, offering her a lopsided smile. “Why do ye hate me so much? At first we seemed to get along just fine. Then the arguments started, and everything turned into a massive war.”

Claire tilted her head to look at him, expectantly glaring back, furiously thinking back to the early days, when both had started working at the  _Royal Infirmary_. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

“You have a dick.” She sighed, finally. “Everybody thought you were the best thing since toilet paper, just because you can piss without sitting down. No matter how hard I worked or how great my numbers were, I was always overlooked.” She raised her chin, stubborn and defiant. “I’d be happy to be second best if I was convinced you were just better. You are a brilliant surgeon, but so am I.”

“Do ye really just called me  _“brilliant”_?” Jamie raised his brows in mocked astonishment, a light smirk on his lips.

“I’m drunk.” Claire said flatly, shrugging. “I probably won’t remember any of this tomorrow, so that’s alright I suppose.”

“I never wanted ye to feel less than ye are.” Jamie assured her in a rough, frank, voice. “I always knew ye were the best. But I worked hard and grew a lot. I won’t apologize for what I became, either.”

“You could have said something.” She accused, almost tripping on her own booted foot. “When every day was  _patriarchy day_  to the administration, you could have said something. I thought you agreed with them.”

“Claire.” He pulled her arm, forcing her to stop. She breathed deeply, battling the notion that three Jamies were looking at her, several pairs of blue eyes adamant. “I never thought ye needed to be rescued. Ye are so fierce and independent. I never believed ye wanted me to intervene. If I was mistaken – I am sorry.”

“Now you know.” The female surgeon gave him a weak smile and twirled around to continue her journey home. “At the time you were seeing that nurse – what’s her name? It sounded like  _“Weary””._  She looked over her shoulder and winked at him, smiling wickedly.

“Laoghaire”. Jamie moaned and covered his eyes in shame.

“Yes!” Claire raised her arms in triumph, as if she had just finished a marathon and was expecting a medal. “She seemed like a handful, so you were definitely too busy to notice the shenanigans of my own life. I believe Geillis called her  _“The Hag”._

“It was short and violent like any good horror story.” Jamie grinned, placing his hands inside his pockets. Clearly thinking about the girl didn’t bring him much pain or heartbreak. He had the appearance of a man complete, his demons thoroughly exorcized, his ghost restfully sleeping on the graves of his memory. “What about Tom?”

“What about him?” Claire said innocently, climbing the steps in front of the small building where her apartment was located. She was  _almost_ sure it was the right place. Jamie followed her up the stairs, placing a hand on the curve of her back when she seemed about to fall on her back and straight into the hard stone steps.

“Would ye have left with him, if I hadn’t shown up?” Jamie asked softly, observing as she pointlessly fought with her keychain.

“I don’t know.” She gave him a naughty smile. “He seems like a chap who had good grades in anatomy. He might just be a pleasant shag – a gentleman in the hospital and a  _beast_  in bed.” Her lips popped when she said it with purpose, happily watching the night lights blurring like fireflies.

Jamie’s eyes shone in the dimness of the lamplight – or perhaps with a light of their own? Claire leaned against the door of the building and he stepped towards her.

“Would ye?” He repeated in a husky voice, almost a dangerous growl. His body was close to hers, every bit as powerful as it had seemed in the pub, the glue she had felt now threatening to stick them together. His red hair was wavier, moisten by the night’s humidity – he was entirely carefree to match her recklessness.

“Would I?” She whispered slowly, provocative. Jamie’s breath was shallow, spent in running towards something indiscernible, and before she could stop herself or think about it any further, Claire kissed his lips.

She could tell the touch had come as a surprise to him; he shivered slightly, taking a considerable amount of time relaxing against her pressing mouth. The sense of restraint emanating from him was overwhelming, as he trembled under the palms she had hungrily placed on his chest, not risking touching her any further than the contact of their mouths. His taste wasn’t sweet; but salty and unmitigated, leaving her forever thirsty for the promise of his lips. She could barely remember her complete name and wasn’t sure if that oblivion was due to drunkenness or another type of intoxication entirely.

“Ye are drunk, lass.” His laughter was gruff, almost broken when she sought to retrieve his lips. “ _So drunk_ , Claire. Best ye get to yer bed. Yer head will be feeling like an egg cracking come mornin’.”

“Don’t you want to come up, Fraser?” She touched his face, her palm cold on his heated skin. Everything hurt, from her toes to her head, a hurt that was almost like a throbbing heart.

“Dinna invite me in if ye dinna mean it.” He tenderly placed a curl behind her ear. “Goodnight, Beauchamp.”

***

_Fuck_. It was the first thought on Claire’s mind when she woke up, followed by a thousand of its twins.  _Fuck fuck fuck_.

Her mouth was dry and fleecy, as if she had been licking a woollen sweater. Slowly – oh so sluggishly – she groped her own forehead, to guarantee her head wasn’t, in fact, fractured in the middle as it felt.

A thousand regrets and whiskey whirled inside her stomach. Her morning routine took triple the time it usually occupied – a long conversation with the toilet, an extended shower, a strong cup of coffee, a friendly pill, a quest to find her sunglasses in order to do a comfortable walk of shame to her workplace.

Avoiding every familiar face with a quick mumble of “ _migraine_ ”, she hastily dressed her scrubs and went to find Jamie. He had just finished a surgery and was walking towards recovery, scribbling on a chart.

“Fraser.” She puffed, the mere gesture of articulating a word almost unbearable. “Do you have a moment?”

“Sure.” He smiled knowingly, giving her a cheeky once-over. She almost pushed him towards an empty examination room, looking around for witnesses. The hallway was fortunately deserted.

“Look.” She closed her eyes and patted her temple, once the door was closed behind them. “I just wanted to apologize. I was a proper mess last night and I believe you saw me at my worst.”

“Hm.” He pursed his lips in amusement. “It was actually verra funny, Claire.”

“Right.” Claire said between teeth, irritated. “I want you to know that I’m really sorry for the kiss. I was lonely and heartbroken - all over again - but I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“I see.” The surgeon paced around the small room, picking up the model of a bladder only to discard it immediately after. “Dinna worry about it, Claire.” He said in a low voice, his back turned to her.

“I mean it was a _big_  mistake.” She flipped her hands in anxiety, looking at him from the corners of her eyes. “ _Inexcusable_  really, but I…”

“Aye.” He said forcibly, hunching his shoulders. His voice was harsh and without its usual musicality – flat, resolute. “I heard ye the first time. I have another surgery to prep for. I’ll see you later,  _Doctor Beauchamp_.”


	8. Hot Appendix

##  **_Part VIII – Hot Appendix_ **

Claire dreamt frequently with performing surgery. While most people dreamt of beaches, hidden desires and the sensation of falling, she dreamt of her home. The place which made her feel safe and in control, something that had been severely lacking on her first few years of life. The white lights of the OR were her sun and the latex gloves her wonderous gown - she wouldn’t trade them for the world.

For the last few nights her dreams had changed because she wasn’t alone. James Fraser was on the other side of the surgical table, operating along with her, and their hands moved together in absolute harmony, like two dancers in an intricate ballet. She had noticed it in real life - how easy it was to predict the next gesture of his hands, how they seemed to complete each other’s work. And that realization had transpired into her nightly wanderings.

When she woke she felt heavily under the weather, a pressure buzzing on her ears and between her eyebrows, seeming to throb in time with an annoying ache around her belly button. After showering, and as she dragged herself towards the bedroom, Claire glanced at the bathroom mirror and noticed her cheeks were almost crimson. Feeling not only sick but irritated with her own sickness, she dressed slowly and carelessly, a moan escaping her lips as she reviewed all the appointments she had that day. The much-anticipated return to her comfy bed seemed to rest a lifetime away.

The previous night she had felt nauseous and clammy, but attributed her discomfort to some suspicious sushi eaten at lunch and entirely too much alcohol earlier in the week. Now the nausea assaulted her with violence, punching her in the gut with a closed fist.

She arrived at the hospital barely managing to walk straight, as an intense pain pressed on her right lower quadrant. That particular tender spot seemed to hold a brazier of hot coals, dissolving her gut from within. Fighting against the urge to cry out, Claire headed straight to the A&E department.

“Hello.” Jamie greeted her politely yet distantly, as she crept across the automatic doors. He was looking at the computer screen, examining X-rays from committed patients, yawning softly after a long night shift, his eyelids somewhat red and puffy.

“Fraser.” She inhaled between her teeth, steadying herself on the counter of the nurse’s station. “I think I have an appendicitis.”

“Are ye hungover again?” He said dryly, not bothering to look at her. His blue eyes weren’t the colour of oceans or skies, but of storms breaking on the shore.

“No!” Claire hissed and moaned as the pain intensified, making her grip her abdomen with her own hand, as if her insides were plotting a riot to escape imprisonment. “I have a hot appendix begging to come out. Are you a surgeon or  _what_?”

His eyes finally met hers and whatever he saw on her face made him jump from the chair and almost run towards her.

“Christ, ye look like a fetch!” He helped her hobble towards a free gurney, where she promptly lied down on her side. “When did the pain start?”

“Sometime during the night.” She sobbed, almost slapping his hand as he tried to push her sweater up to better evaluate her sore belly. He offered her an impatient look and she hesitantly allowed his explorations, gasping and coiling when his hands compressed and released her right lower quadrant.

“Is there any chance ye’re pregnant?” He asked, acquiring the tone of distant professionalism. “It may also be an ectopic pregnancy.”

“No!” Claire protested as vehemently as pain allowed her. “I haven’t had sex in a long time.” She gave him a narrow look, blushing. “Thanks for reminding me that.”

“Why are ye groping Claire?” Geillis questioned conspiratorially, materializing next to them. She was placidly munching a granola bar, clearly enjoying a break from the OR. “At least get her into a room wee fox, not here in front of this crowd.” The redheaded woman smiled with mischief. “Unless ye’re into that kinky stuff, which I’d totally applaud. I ken of this store that has -”

“Doctor Beauchamp’s appendix is misbehaving.” He interrupted her, placing cold ultrasound gel on Claire’s belly, to take a closer look into the aggravating organ. Jamie clicked his tongue and shook his head, skilfully manoeuvring the transducer. “There’s no doubt. Ye need surgery. Is John in today, Geillis?”

“Aye.” The nurse nodded, her face dismaying with concern. “But he just started to operate on a perforated bowel. And Joe went on a holiday with Gail, so he’s out of town.”

“I guess that leaves me, then.” Jamie’s eyes searched for Claire’s, seeking her approval. She nodded almost imperceptibly, swallowing hard.

“Shall I make a cross marking the right place, just in case, Fraser?” She tried to joke, but her face contorted in pain. “Or do you want me to google an appendix, so you can take a look first?”

“I know ye’re scared. I’m a wee bit scairt myself.” He whispered gently, close to her ear, as Geillis searched for a hospital gown for her to wear. “But I’ve got ye, Claire.  _I’ve got ye_. I’ll see ye safe.”

***

Claire opened her eyes slowly, her eyelids feeling heavy and grainy, as if sand had been poured into her face. The hospital room was almost in complete darkness, except for the light coming from the corridor, the red flare of the monitor and the moonlight streaming from the window. Even though her abdomen felt incredibly tender, the searing pain had been substituted by a nagging feeling, as if muscle and skin were stretching beyond limits to seal an open gap.

She tilted her head, watching the tube of the IV suspended from her arm like a balloon flying towards the sky, and finally noticed she wasn’t alone.

Jamie was sitting on an armchair close to her bed, looking absentmindedly through the window. His face seemed relaxed and peaceful, as if the moon had told him tales of a perfect day to come. When he heard the rustle of the sheets, he startled and glanced at her.  

“Ye’re awake.” He smiled softly, his long fingers touching the back of her hand. “The surgery went smoothly.” Her face remained serious and still, so he continued to try to ease her. “I hope ye dinna mind, but I’ve stitched a  _“J”_  to close up the wound. Just to remind ye who saved yer life. It will make a bonny scar.”

“I’d tell you to sod off if you weren’t the one prescribing my painkillers.” Claire rasped out, smiling mildly. “Instead I’ll pretend eternal gratitude. For now.”

“Ye’re welcome.” Jamie grinned, delicately squeezing her hand. She almost told him that all her pain was concentrated bellow her belly button so there was no real need for gentleness, but remained silent, fearful he would withdraw his hand.

“I didn’t thank you  _yet_ , Fraser.” She licked her chapped lips.

“Aye. Ye did.” He brushed a sticky curl away from her face. “I’ve seen ye drunk out of yer mind and yer blood has stained my hands. We’re beyond words now.” Jamie rubbed his eyes, fighting the burning sensation of sleep deprivation. “Ye need yer rest, so I’ll leave ye to it. Doctor’s orders.”

“Enjoying the chance to boss me around, I see. But do you really have to go?” Claire asked timidly, slightly scooting down the bed. “It’s weird to be alone here. It’s a bit like going through the looking-glass.”

“No.” He looked intently at her, his eyes soft and limpid. “I’ll bide for a while, lass. Sleep and I’ll make sure there’s no  _Red Queen_  in sight.”

***

In the morning Jamie was gone – he must have departed sometime in the early hours of dawn, finally defeated by almost two full days without sleep. The ghost of his scent remained on the air, lulling her to sleep once more.

When she woke again the sun shone outside. On the impersonal white nightstand next to her bed laid a note. Her heart fluttered and for a moment she feared the monitor would beep in alarm, triggering inconvenient questions from the nursing staff.

_“Needle,_

_I saw you dream and knew passion. I knew fear and discovered love._

_“I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,_

_the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,_

_I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes.”_

_I’ll see you soon. Be well._

_Yours,_

_Scalpel”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem by Pablo Neruda


	9. Commotio Cordis

##  **_Part IX – Commotio Cordis_ **

If boredom could kill, Claire Beauchamp would be painstakingly dead. Her practical side, restless nature and passion for her work didn’t combine well with a sick leave. But her appendix had been on the verge of rupturing, threatening to pollute her body with a poison of its own making, and rest wasn’t an optional activity. Her abdomen felt residually tender, but her mood had improved significantly after she had been allowed to go home and wear her own pajamas.

Geillis had come to visit, but instead of concentrating on the task of distracting her – as any good visitor would –, took hold of her comfortable armchair and started reading the latest issue of “ _Surgical Field_ ”, a reputed magazine on their line of work, which had just arrived on the morning mail.

Puffing in annoyance when she realized that she had already watched the current episode of  _The Great British Bake Off_  – not once, but twice! (And the tempering of chocolate was only  _mediocre_ ) – Claire rolled on the couch when her phone pinged with a new message. Glancing at the screen, she realized the message came from an unknown number.

Unknown:  _How are you feeling, Doctor Beauchamp?_

Claire quirked a brow and quickly typed an answer.

Claire:  _Alive. Who is this?_

Unknown:  _Have you already forgotten your saviour? It’s a good thing I’m sure I didn’t take your memory along with the appendix._

Claire:  _Fraser?_

Unknown:  _Did you have any other lifesaving procedures these days?_

Claire:  _How did you get my number? Stole it from my chart?_

She smirked and swiftly added his number to her list of contacts. A bantering session with James Fraser might just be what was missing to speed her recovery.

Fraser:  _Again, nurses. Nothing is safe with them._

Claire:  _I was thinking of changing my phone number anyway._

Fraser:  _OUCH. Are you taking good care of that beautiful scar?_

Claire:  _Beautiful? I’ve seen better suturing in 4th grade science projects. Borderline mangling._

Fraser:  _:) Not all of us can be as gifted as you. But then again, I don’t wear bright pink panties either._

Claire:  _…I’m blocking your number now. And they were CORAL. I don’t wear pink. AS IF._

Fraser:  _They were very tasteful._

Claire:  _Pretty sure you’re violating about a thousand codes of conduct with this conversation. PATIENT here._

Fraser: IMPATIENT.  _Will you come in to check your dressing today?_

Claire:  _I already did. I knew you weren’t there in the morning. AH._

“Ye’re smiling like an idiot.” Geillis said sheepishly, startling her out of her reverie. The nurse was glaring at her with an amused grin, her eyes intent. “Who are ye talking to?”

“Fraser.” Claire shrugged, nonchalantly throwing her phone to the side. “Poking him is always good fun.”

“Hm.” The redheaded woman hummed, putting the magazine on her lap, her index finger folded to mark the page she had been reading. “Are ye friends now?”

“Not  _friends_.” Claire furrowed her brows, fluffing the pillow she was leaning against. “I guess just not… _enemies_. He isn’t  _as bad_  as I thought he was.”

“Oh, he is verra  _fine._ Totally  _satisfactory_ , I’d say _._ ” Geillis gave her a sultry smile and a suggestive wink. “I’ve been telling you that for months now.”

“Well, I’m not joining his fan club any time soon nor going to any support group for victims of his  _dazzling_ smile.” The surgeon huffed, adjusting her loose bun. “Just trying some peaceful coexistence.” And then noticing the entirely unconvinced look on her friend’s face. “He _did_ save my life.”

“I just think ye need someone.” Geillis said slowly and more prudently than ever. It felt like watching a jaguar trying to act like a well-behaved house cat. “Ye canna shield that heart of yers forever.”

“I already have _someone_.” Claire answered in a small voice, avoiding the nurse’s intense gaze. Her meeting with  _Scalpel_  was just twenty-four hours away. She fervently hoped that news of her predicament wouldn’t stop him from appearing at her door.  

“Yer imaginary friend?” The redheaded woman shook her head, contorting her beautiful lips painted in red. “Are ye aware he is going to be just a man, like any other?”

“No.” Claire said decisively, the back of her neck burning – with shame? Apprehension? “ _Scalpel_ is different from every man I know. Attentive, sincere and intelligent. He just  _is_.”

“Alright.” Geillis raised a hand in surrender. “I hope he is  _all that_  and has a map to the G-spot too. And a twin who loves a ginger woman.”

Claire rolled her eyes and immersed herself in the oblivion of daytime television again, as Geillis continued to read. Her hands ached, empty, as they so often would when she spent too much time away from a surgical table.

“Claire…” The nurse called haltingly, after a while. Her jade eyes were wide open in distress. “Did ye read this issue already?”

“No. What is it?” The surgeon stretched her hand, waiting for her friend to offer her the medical journal.

“Ye won’t like it.” Geillis greeted her teeth, hesitantly offering her the offending literature. “Ye won’t like it one bit.”

***

The afternoon of the next day was spent in careful preparation, as Claire overthought and overanalysed every detail, from her clothing to her doormat. She eventually opted for casual push-up jeans and a blue sweater, since  _Scalpel_ probably knew she was still in recovery from her surgery and had undoubtedly seen her wearing worse. Claire had struggled with the decision to apply makeup to hide her emaciated face, but chose to leave her skin clean and fresh. He had drawn her face, portraying her in a light she was unable to see herself in – unquestionably, he already knew whatever she was trying to hide.

Cursing Geillis back to her ancestor witch, she had thoroughly waxed, feeling simultaneously ridiculous and wanton. Her hair was a creature with an independent life and she resigned long before she was able to tame it.

She sat on the couch and got up multiple times to compose a misaligned picture frame or a crooked book, until her sutures began throbbing, warning her to contain her obsessive behaviour. Claire’s nails were a mess from biting and she darkly contemplated the idea of greeting him with her hands carefully hidden inside her pockets.

When Claire was almost asleep on the couch, exhausted from expectation, the doorbell rang. She lunged for the entrance, almost breathless – desperately trying to appear casual and composed – and slowly opened it with a smile plastered on her face.

And her heart skipped two beats.


	10. Scalpel

##  **_Part X – Scalpel_ **

James Fraser stood at her door, an inscrutable expression on his face. He donned a light blue shirt, impeccably ironed, and dark navy pants. The whole ensemble made his eyes appear even more fathomless and otherworldly. His clear attempt at combing his hair into a submissive mass of cinnamon, copper and auburn automatically alarmed Claire.

“What are you doing here?” Claire said dryly, forgetting any resemblance of appropriate manners for a hostess. “I’m expecting someone, so this really isn’t the best time.”

“Aye.” He said in a hoarse voice, a faint smile appearing on his lips. “I believe ye are.”

“What…?” She braced her hand on the doorframe, feeling slightly dizzy and entirely fazed. Realization was slowly dawning on the back of her mind, aggressively slapping her with fragments of her interactions with _Scalpel_. “You’re joking. Is this your idea of a joke, Fraser?”

“No.” Jamie assured her, his fingers anxiously tapping on his own thigh. He looked pale and heartbreakingly vulnerable. “It’s really me,  _Needle_.”

“No.” Claire furiously shook her head, her trembling fingers brushing her perspired forehead, a cold sweat installing on her skin. “It can’t be.”

“I am  _Scalpel_.” He whispered, tilting his head in search of her eyes, grasping for a hint of recognition. “It has been me, all along.” And as she seemed crystallized in place, shocked beyond the ability to form coherent sentences, he placed his hands on his pockets, his shoulders hunched. “May I come in?”

“I think you should leave.” Claire murmured, her lips feeling cold and numb, a dark void blooming somewhere between her stomach and heart, consuming everything until even air seemed difficult to breathe in.

“Does it really change things for ye, then?” He said, the hurt in his voice pouring out. “Because I am  _him_. All the things I wrote to ye, they were mine to say.”

“You _fooled_ me.” She spat, stepping away from him. Placing a greater distance between them. “All we shared was nothing but a play to you.”

“I never played ye false!” Jamie argued, moving to enter her apartment and firmly closing the door behind him. In the hallway neighbours were starting to peek, attracted by the altercation on the landing.

“ _Really_?” Claire laughed ruefully, folding her arms against her chest in a defensive position. “You pretended to be another person, knowing all too well we didn’t get along, but you want to proclaim  _honesty_?”

“Ye would not let me in!” He raised his hands, marking his distress. “But  _Scalpel_ was safe.  _Scalpel_  wasn’t  _real_. I am.”

“Maybe there was a good reason for me not wanting any kind of relationship with you to begin with!” She sniggered, her muscles tense enough to cause pain on her back and neck.

“It wasna just me.” His lilt grew thicker, as if she had managed to dig into his veneer of civility, bringing him to a raw state. Utterly _undone_. “Ye were hurt by a wicked man. _Badly_. I kent that. Every time ye felt there was a risk to yer heart, ye pulled back and built these fences, so no one could see ye for the scared lass that ye are. _Scalpel_  made ye comfortable enough to let down yer guard. And I  _saw ye_ , Claire. I’ve seen ye since the first day. And I think that terrifies ye and makes ye mad.”

“Oh, don’t you pretend to be an expert on me just because we shared some  _letters.”_  The spiteful way she said the word was almost a slap to his face.  _Retribution_. Pain for pain.

“Well, ye were fine with it before things got  _real._ ” He gritted his teeth, his blue eyes hooded. “I could love ye, Claire. And – aye! – I would probably break yer heart, as ye have broken mine. As ye are breaking it, even now.” He looked away from her, his voice husky. “But I promise ye that I’d mend it too. Every _damn_ time I’d mend it. And each time there would be a new piece to fill in a wee hole, until yer heart could barely fit inside yer chest.”

“Alluring words.” She pursed her lips, frustration and anger building up – an inexplicable anger that permeated her every thought and word. To be so exposed and unarmed almost made her skin crawl. “Too bad you’ve shown your true colours, Fraser.” Claire grabbed the issue of “ _Surgical Field_ ” and threw it at him, missing his ginger head by an inch. “Page twenty – but I’m sure you already know that. Probably have a copy ready to frame and display on your wall.”

Looking befuddled, Jamie retrieved the magazine from the rug and perused it until he reached the right page.

“ _The Fraser method_.” He read aloud the beginning of the long article, occupying the central pages, his voice quivering. “ _The new surgical approach, created by the Scottish surgeon, has shown reduced mortality and a low rate of complications.”_

Claire glared at him, her whiskey-coloured eyes defiant.  _Betrayed_. “ _My_ method.  _My_ technique. Published in  _your_ name. That’s low, even for you. Couldn’t resist the urge to shine, huh?”

“Ye canna possibly believe I’d do such a thing!” He growled in despair, casting the publication to the floor. “I’d never do such a despicable thing to a colleague, least of all to ye!”

“You are just another man lying to me, enjoying a secret life. Ready to use my merits against me.” Tears were burning her eyes, making his face dance before her. She forbade herself from crying in front of him. To let him taste her weakness, how much she had yearned for him only to have her hopes shattered.

“If that is truly what ye think of me, I have nothing else to say to ye.” He winced, his strong arms limp with defeat. “I’ll find out who was responsible for this and they will pay. Because I’d never hurt ye willingly, Claire.”

“And yet, you have.” She said haltingly, moving past Jamie to open the door in order for him to leave. Her fingers brushed his in briskness and for a moment she thought he would capture them and hold her hand against his, palm against palm, their nervous sweat mingling together.

He turned his back on her, readying himself to leave. To abandon the seed of a possibility he had nurtured for months.

“I meant every word.” Jamie whispered, clenching his fists. “Every poem. The drawing I made where I’d held yer hand, helping ye whenever ye felt ye werena strong enough. I thought we had come to an understanding these past weeks, that ye were ready to accept me for who I am. That I had helped ye be less afraid.” He brushed his forehead and Claire thought he might be erasing any trace of traitorous moisture from his cheeks. “I was wrong.”

“ _Scalpel_  was a mask to deceive me.” Claire blurted, feeling acute pain not only on her fresh scar, but on her every bone. “I don’t like the man behind it.”

Jamie laughed ruefully.

“I could kiss ye, even now.” And he left - he left her - closing the door softly behind him, a ghost sorrowfully leaving a haunted house.


	11. Best served cold

##  **_Part XI – Best served cold_ **

“Will ye tell me what happened?” Geillis pleaded for the third time since she and Claire had installed themselves on the cafeteria, for a much-deserved break on their long shift.

“There is nothing to tell.” Claire sipped her earl grey tea, warming the palm of her hand on the plastic cup. Her friend had mercilessly grilled her since the previous night, first through serial phone texts and eventually in person, asking for details of her meeting with  _Scalpel_. Her stomach did an unpleasant somersault thinking of the revelations of the last twenty-four hours.

“Does he have a cleft lip?” The redheaded woman tried to guess, distractedly munching on her fruit salad. “Only one arm maybe? Lots of pimples?”

“ _Let-it-go_!” Claire said forcibly, enhancing every syllable, rolling her eyes in exasperation.

“He stammers, that’s why he was into writing letters?” She blatantly ignored Claire’s request, cheerfully continuing her snooping on her friend’s endeavours. “Is he a hermaphrodite? Couldn’t find where to put it?”

“Honestly, Geillis.” Claire shook her head in disbelief, opening her butterscotch eyes. “I don’t even know where you get these things.”

“Ye are giving me nothing, my shrewish friend, so I must persevere based on my fertile imagination alone.” The nurse shrugged and smiled impishly. “I ken something was definitely amiss, or I’d have heard everything about it by now.”

Claire raised her brow and looked at her friend, practically begging her to reveal details with her disturbing emerald eyes. The surgeon sighed, finally surrendering to the desire of sharing some of her burden.

“He was just… _a disappointment_.” She drank deeply from her almost cold drink, trying to buy more time to gather her rampant thoughts.

“Hm.” Geillis encouraged with a groan, deep inside her throat, leaning forward to her friend with an astute look about her. “And does this _disappointment of a_   _man_ have any relation with  _James Fraser_ , by any chance?”

Claire almost choked on her tea.

“How do you…?” She questioned between teeth, quickly cleaning a glob of brown liquid that projected from her cup in her rattled state.

“The thought had crossed my mind.” Geillis grinned in victory, fluffing her carroty long hair. “Besides, Fraser called in sick today. In the years we’ve worked together, I’ve seen him operate with a burning fever and attend to the A&E while vomiting every ten minutes into a bucket. I found it very odd that a mere cold would hinder him now.” She threw Claire a questioning look.

“I didn’t punch him, if that’s what you are thinking. I  _really_  wanted to, though.” Claire assured her nonchalantly. “He’s probably avoiding me, that’s all. And thanks for the warning by the way –  _quite_  the best friend, you are.” She finished mordantly.

“I wasna sure.” The nurse patted her hand in an understated apology. “Just something in the way he looked at ye before yer surgery. Like he had a secret and only ye knew the answer.”

“I felt so stupid, Geillis.” Claire admitted, swallowing hard. “A perfect fool. What was I thinking?”

“Ye were thinking that, perhaps, ye deserve to be properly loved and thoroughly shagged.” Geillis bit the point of her index finger, glancing at Claire with concern. “Ye kicked him out of yer house, then?”

“Pretty much.” The doctor sighed, crossing her arms against a sudden chill, even though all windows were firmly shut in the vicinity. “He stole my work and deceived me, pretending to be someone else entirely just to get close to me. Fraser abused what trust I gave him.”

“Maybe he thought that if ye got to truly know him without a name to associate with, ye’d give him a fair chance.” The ginger woman pointed. “So by the time he exposed the truth, it wouldna make a difference.”

“He was wrong, wasn’t he?” Claire replied shortly, the sour tang of humiliation still fresh on her tongue. “He should have known that truth became my most prized possession after my untimely-dead-fiancé. And there is no forgiving that article.”

“I have such a hard time believing Fraser would do such a foul thing.” Geillis quirked her perfectly groomed brow. “What will ye do?”

“Well…” Claire said slowly, examining her short fingernails with disinterest. “You are right in the sense that maybe I was closing myself to life a bit too tightly. I might change that.”

“Oh, ye naughty wench!” The redheaded woman exclaimed, delighted. “Ye better tell me everything right now or I’ll force it out of ye.”

“Tom Christie asked me out this morning, when I called him for a psych-evaluation on a patient.” Claire whispered, almost fearful. “I didn’t know what else to say, so I accepted.”

“The  _wolf-man_?” Geillis whistled, impressed. She intently examined her friend and Claire felt almost naked in front of her. “Ye really want to punish Fraser, don’t ye?”

“Not my every move revolves around the Scottish bastard!” Claire protested, getting up and discarding her used cup. The lie detector inside her beeped softly, but she promptly muffled it. “Tom is a nice man and I’m sure dinner will be lovely.”

“Just don’t break yer own heart out of spite, love.” The nurse advised, squeezing her shoulder. “And don’t let him nibble yer toes.”

***

The week was remarkably uneventful. The very city seemed to be in a permanent state of suspense, akin to a deep breath before a plunge in cold and uncharted waters. The number of emergent patients decreased and there was plenty of time to do elective procedures. The doctors found themselves grouping in the break rooms at strange hours during the day, substituting idle hands with casual conversations.

James Fraser had been absent for a few days, raising alarms about his welfare amongst the admiring female staff. Claire knew he had finally returned to work the previous day, accepting a string of graveyard shifts, which coincidentally placed him on an entirely different rotation from her own schedule. She overheard a nurse commenting he seemed leaner, pale and unrested – definitely recovering from a serious illness. His suffering didn’t bring her the consolation she had hoped for.

The evening of her date with Christie arrived without any particular excitement, but instead with a strange sense of obligation – another task she had stubbornly promised herself to conquer. She made the effort of putting on a nice dress, green with a silky effect, but decided against high-heels. Her heart was inside a vault and Claire had no clue where she had stored the key since that day with  _Scalpel_.  

“Claire.” Tom greeted her with a soft kiss on the cheek, when they met outside  _“The Ridge”_  restaurant, a trendy spot with homely flavours and a splendid selection of ciders and whiskeys. “Ye look beautiful.”

“Thank you, Tom.” She gave him a small smile and nodded as he allowed her to enter before him. “You look very dapper too. Do you come here often?”

“Actually, no.” They sat at a small table by the corner of the cosy room, politely smiling at the waitress, who promptly delivered them the leather-covered menu. “Heard a few comments about the place at the hospital and seemed perfect for the occasion.”

“And what’s the occasion, exactly?” Claire asked him, straightforwardly, playing with the corner of her napkin.

“Just getting to know ye better, Claire.” Christie assured her, the tip of his fingers gently touching the back of her hand, splayed on the delicately embellished towel. His grey eyes were famished and yearning. “We can take things as slow as ye like.”

Before Claire could manage an agreeable response, the elegant door across the room opened to allow in a dazzling John Grey followed by a reluctant James Fraser.

“ _Shit_.” Claire cursed, tempted to bury her face behind the overpriced menu.


	12. Tourniquet

##  **_Part XII – Tourniquet_ **

Jamie’s eyes found hers, as two aimless fireworks exploding in murky skies, blazing enough to bring day into the night. His high cheeks were gaunter than Claire remembered, and deep dark circles surrounded his eyelids. He quietly whispered something to John and motioned to leave, but his companion shook his head and grabbed his arm, clearly urging him to stay and enjoy the meal.

Claire tried her hardest to ignore the disturbing sensation of being intently observed, as she studied the menu with a pretence of interest in medium-rare meats. Occasionally, her eyes would slip away, peeking at Jamie, who would be glaring back at her.

“Is something amiss?” Christie asked, his fingers seeking her hand on the table again. Claire swiftly removed it from his grasp, allegedly to compose the napkin on her lap. He quirked a brow and glanced above his shoulder, detecting the two surgeons sitting a couple of tables away from them. Claire intuited the conceited smile forming on his lips.

“You knew Jamie was coming here tonight with John, didn’t you?” She accused between teeth, her knuckles pressing on the table, her face livid with fury. “Wanted to flaunt me like a prize you finally managed to win, is that it?”

He babbled something in a half-hearted attempt at denial, but Claire’s cold gaze effectively made him silent.

“Yes.” He admitted in a low voice, distractedly playing with the glass in his hand. “I overheard John saying they were meant to come here. But it’s not about flaunting ye, as much as showing Fraser he isna the right man for ye. Because he  _wants_  ye.” He swallowed hard, his grey eyes troubled, as if a dense fog was descending inside them. “I’ve ken it since the night we met at the pub, even if ye seemed remarkably unaware of it.”

_I could love ye._ Claire repressed the memory of Jamie’s words and the longing in his fathomless blue eyes when he spoke them.

“You should have put that much effort in showing  _me_ that.” Claire growled back. “I can make my own choices, thank you very much. Because you  _blew it_ , Tom. I gave you a fair chance and you threw it away in favour of a dick-measuring contest.”

“Ye have no idea  _what that man_  did to my life.” Christie clenched his jaw, his shoulders tensing. He seemed dangerous and incredibly resentful, stripping him of his previous warm charm. “I was married when we went to college together. I was completely besotted and married young. When my ex-wife, Mona, met Fraser she became obsessed with him. He ruined our marriage.”

“And Fraser encouraged her?” The surgeon furrowed her brows, imagining a sordid love affair capable of wrecking a solid marriage.

“He showed me her messages to warn me.” The psychiatrist looked away, his lips pursed by the aftershocks of an ancient and lingering pain. “She divorced me when I confronted her.”

“Your marriage was clearly doomed, Tom, if all it took for her to leave you was a mop of red hair and a pair of blue eyes.” Claire pointed, grabbing her small purse.

“Please, Claire.” Tom pleaded, capturing her wrist in his strong hand as she moved to get up from the table. “We can go somewhere else. I truly like ye.”

Before Claire had the chance to reply that she’d rather have a can of tuna for dinner in the tranquillity of her apartment, away from more male imbecility, a figure approached their disquieted table.

“Is Christie bothering ye, Claire?” Jamie asked in a rumble.

Claire turned her head to see him standing next to them, John apprehensively looming behind.

“Yes.” She sniffed, as Christie let go of her arm. “You are  _both_ bothering me, to be honest. I’m leaving.”

“No one invited ye over our table, Fraser!” Christie spat, scowling. James Fraser placed both his hands on the table, leaning against it in a seemingly casual position, his height overwhelmingly imposing. The nearby waiter was observing the scene with his mouth slightly ajar, anticipating incoming trouble for  _“The Ridge”_  porcelain and a substantial reduction on his commission for the night.

“Aye, ye did. The second ye held her against her will.” Jamie smiled darkly.

“Jamie, perhaps you should –“ John tried to serenate the kerfuffle, his leaner frame at a clear disadvantage to stop them, if the two men decided to solve their animosity resorting to physical blows.

When Claire was about to meddle and try to infuse some much-welcomed good sense into the situation, a loud crash made the windows shake and the silverware rattle on the table tops.

“ _Help_!” Someone cried out in despair nearby and the group promptly ran outside, Jamie nimbly leading the way.

“Help, please!” An old woman screamed, caught on her night-time dog walk with her chihuahua, her pink house-slippers almost escaping her bunions. Two cars had crashed into each other, when the driver of the first vehicle ignored the red traffic light - in order to take a call from his very eager mistress – colliding with a small van, where a young mother drove her son home after soccer practice.  

The impact caused the metal to deform, like plasticine in the hands of a toddler, contorted beyond recognition. The engines were still running, and the night was filled with the sick scent of spilled fuel.

“They are trapped!” Jamie realized and, before Claire could stop him, he was running towards the van. John was grabbing his cell, dialling the emergency number to report the accident, and Tom was trying to calm down the hysterical elderly lady. Cursing under her breath, she followed Jamie without a second thought.

“What do you have?” She asked, as Jamie peeked through the broken car window, using the sleeve of his sweater to get rid of shards of glass.

“The lass is in bad shape.” He said, quickly glancing at the backseat where a young boy laid unconscious. “Her leg is bleeding profusely, I think she has a nicked femoral artery.” Jamie bent over the window with a grunt, managing to unlock the battered door to better access the victim. His fingers searched for a carotid pulse, as Claire swiftly examined the child through the window – the back door was completely jammed after the impact.

“ _Ifrinn_!” Jamie swore, starting to undo the belt of his trousers.

The female surgeon’s capable hands gently dislocated the boy’s mandible, allowing the influx of air without any obstruction. Noticing the ginger’s activities, she raised her brows. “Do you think a striptease will revive her?” She pointed mildly.

“Tourniquet.” The man explained, adjusting and tightening the leather belt around the woman’s thigh. “Dinna worry, my knickers aren’t  _coral_.”

Claire snorted begrudgingly. “The boy has a concussion. Probably a broken wrist and a couple of ribs too. Can’t really see his legs.”

“ _Finlay.”_  The woman croaked, her eyelashes fluttering. She tried to move her arm and cried out in pain. “What – happened?”

“There has been an accident.” Jamie said softly, brushing her strawberry blonde hair. The gentleness of his gesture formed a knot on Claire’s throat. “My – my _colleague_  has him.”

“It hurts.” She slightly tilted her chin to better look at Jamie. “Are ye an angel?”

“No, he is _not_.” Claire huffed from the back, trying to stabilize Finlay’s neck.

“Her pulse is faint. I need to put some pressure on that wound.” Jamie looked around. “Do ye have anything I could use, Claire?”

“I’m sorry but I don’t usually bring sterile compresses to a date.” She answered sheepishly, promptly ripping the hem of her delicate green dress and exposing a significant portion of her bare legs. “Here, use this.” And then, noticing his mischievous and surprised stare. “Can’t really let you do all the life-saving undressing here, can I?”

They were both incredibly busy saving innocent lives to realize fire had started to whisper on the road nearby, the dark combustible slowly dripping to feed the flames, as blood feeding a beating heart.


	13. The Beauchamp Method

##  **_Part XIII – The Beauchamp Method_ **

“FIRE!” Jamie and Claire heard Christie’s shout and they both craned their necks, searching for the source of alarm. A reddish flame was teasingly licking the ground, just a couple of well-measured steps away from the family vehicle.

“ _Fuck_.” Jamie hissed, frantically strapping the victim’s thigh with the soft fabric of Claire’s dress. “We need to get away from the car, right  _now_.”

“I won’t leave them!” Claire hissed back, applying all her force in trying to dislodge the back door, where Finlay remained trapped.

“And I won’t leave  _you_!” Jamie placed his sizable hands on her shoulders, gripping her slightly. “Get away from the car, take the mother, and I’ll grab the lad.  _Go_!”

Claire looked into his eyes, adamant and fierce, and eventually nodded in agreement. She hurried to the car, grabbed the almost unconscious woman by the armpits without preamble, and started to drag her bodily from the seat. Jamie ran to the other side of the car and was inserting himself into the crushed passenger cabin, crawling like a venturesome snail, struggling to achieve Finlay.

“I’ll help Jamie.” John volunteered, starting to run towards the car, but the fire chose that moment to intensify, with a whoosh that seemed almost a human voice, angry and rebellious. Claire grunted in effort, sliding the weight of the woman across the tarmac road, sighing in relief when Tom came to her aid. Together, they successfully deposited the young mother in safety. Grey and Christie had managed to help the other driver, who was laying on his back on the sidewalk, softly moaning.

“Where are you, Fraser?” Claire whispered, her whiskey-coloured eyes turned almost orange by the reflex of the flames, desperately searching for his tall figure. Sirens were rapidly approaching, howling like a pack of hungry wolves.

“It’s going to explode.” Tom warned, and Claire started to mindlessly walk towards the car, her chest heavy with a quarry of unfinished and undefined thoughts, all revolving around Jamie. “What are ye doing?” He pulled her by the arm, restraining her advance. “Ye canna go there!”

“Let me go!” She struggled against his powerful grip, blue lights surrounding them as a firefighter’s truck and several ambulances arrived on the street. “He needs help! I can’t just leave him!”

“Dinna worry.” A voice coughed through the smoke. Slowly James Fraser emerged from the haze, carrying the small boy in his arms, glued to his chest like a baby koala. Claire breathed deeply, her whole body going almost slack with relief. “I’m no turning to crisped bacon just yet.”

And together they watched as the night suddenly exploded, the fire enraged by the loss of promised lives to consume.

***

Claire found Jamie sitting on the exact same spot where once he had been resting after smuggling an innocent father and heartbroken son from the hospital. The first time they had truly worked together, and discovered they were remarkably good at it.

They had been transported to the hospital along with the victims, to be evaluated for smoke inhalation. After being cleared for soot damage, Claire could only dream of a long shower and subsequent dreamless slumber.

Jamie was curled on the floor of the locker room, his long legs tightly tucked against his broad chest, his head slumped black and eyes closed. Claire silently went to her locker, not wanting to engage in a conversation she viscerally feared, and opened it almost without looking inside it. Since  _Scalpel_ and Fraser had merged together, every reminder of their friendship –  _affair_? – left her restless and aching. She had tried to throw away his drawings, but ended up locking them on the bottom drawer of her desk, away from her eyes and – hopefully – from her heart.

She glimpsed at Jamie from the corner of her eyes. He was covered in blood, fuel residue and soot; battered beyond imagination and painstakingly vulnerable.

“Are you alright?” She turned around and asked, placing a hand on the small of her own back, as to compose herself.

“Do ye care?” He replied in a hoarse voice, not opening his eyes. His head lulled on the wall, his hair curling with sweat and unidentifiable grime.

“Yes.” Claire said in a low voice, almost biting her own lip. “Don’t really know why or how, but at this moment I seem to care. You should enjoy such a rare occurrence.”

“It’s just the adrenaline coursing through yer body. It’s a bonny feeling, as if anything is again possible.” He laughed, a rumble deep inside his throat, almost a feline purr. “I’m sure tomorrow ye’ll go back to wishing I was under a pile of rubble.”

“Well, I might have a change of heart within the hour.” The female surgeon padded to him and carefully sat next to him on the tiled floor, maintaining a respectable distance. She adjusted the pants of her scrubs, which she had dressed underneath her thorn dress to maintain some modesty. His eyes were veiled, seeming to contemplate faraway landscapes. “What are you thinking about?”

“My mother and younger brother died in a car accident.” Jamie said after a while, when she had started to believe he wouldn’t actually talk, blatantly avoiding her piercing eyes. “I couldna avoid thinking – remembering –  _shit_!” He brushed his eyes with his smeared palm.

“I see.” She whispered. In all truth  _she did see_ , all too well.

“I guess they were the reason I became a doctor to begin with.” He licked his lips, nervous. “I always had a good head for figures and could pick a new language in a matter of a few weeks. I could have been a dozen different things, but - I mean I…”

“You wanted to save them.” Claire helped softly. “Saving the memory of them by saving others, whenever you could.”

“Aye.” He finally allowed his eyes to meet hers, and she saw his gratitude – and something else, much more frightening, much more commanding. “And tonight, maybe  _we_  did.”

“My parents also died in a car accident.” She shared haltingly, twisting her fingers. “I was very young, so I don’t know that it made such a dent in my life. But I  _get it_ , honestly. Those we lost in the past always haunt our future.”

“I like seeing ye so.” Jamie said in a husky voice, a tiny smile appearing on his lips.

“You do?” Claire asked, uncomfortable by the sudden intimacy. “Filthy and dishevelled, is it?” He tilted his head in amusement, a coppery strand of hair cascading on his forehead.

“Caring. Whole-hearted.” His hand slowly touched her cheek and she shivered – for a moment Claire considered moving away from it, but she didn’t. “I like yer wit and sharp tongue – I wouldna trade them for the world – but in moments like this, I see all ye could be. What yer heart becomes. And I canna help it.” He allowed his hand to fall away, slowly.

“What?” She swallowed hard, the warmth of his missing hand like a vanishing ghost on her skin. “What can’t you help?”

“Wanting ye.” He sighed and looked away again, hiding from her rejection. He fumbled in his pocket and took out his black cell phone, which he offered her. “The official statement will be published on the next issue. But I asked them to put a notice on the website, in the meantime.”

Claire glanced at the online page of  _“Surgical Field”_  displayed on his phone. “ _Retraction.”_  It read in bold lettering.  _“On our last issue, page twenty, we inadvertently attributed the authorship of a new surgical method to Dr. James Fraser. However, the approach was tailored by Dr. Claire Beauchamp, hence the appropriate designation is “The Beauchamp Method”. For the unintended inaccuracy we extend our readers and the concerned professionals the sincerest apologies.”_

“They wouldna disclose who sent the article.” Jamie explained. “But I threatened them with a lawsuit if they didna make some verra quick amends.” Noticing her blank stare, he proceeded. “I _am_  sorry, Claire.”

“It really wasn’t you.” She returned the phone, her hands slightly shaking. “You were telling the truth.”

“Aye.” He brushed the mop of his head hair, succeeding only in making it more tangled. “I had  _secrets_ , but not lies.”

“I’m sorry I doubted you about the article.” Claire whispered.  “But what happened between us –  _Scalpel_  and  _Needle_  - I don’t know how to get past that. I still feel as if you wronged me somehow, Fraser.”

“Maybe we can start from the beginning.” The tip of his fingers tentatively touched hers. Insecure.  _Hopeful._  “As Jamie and Claire. Without any expectations.”

“I really do prefer _Beauchamp_ , Fraser.” Claire joked, slowly raising from the floor.  _Away from him._  From the vulnerability he was summoning within, threatening to make every careful wall crumble, destroyed by the seismic activity between them. “Don’t get too friendly.” She raised her brows with a chastising smile.

“Even when ye smile,” Jamie sighed dramatically, pretending to fall down on the floor. “Ye’re still cruel.”


	14. The Healer

##  _**Part XIV – The Healer** _

Doctors are trained to deal with loss; grief becomes a second lover, only supplanted by life. They become masters at it, until they truly fool themselves by thinking they are immune. But not every loss is the same, as no two persons are equivalent. Sometimes you invest beyond the line, care a little too much, let them under your skin until there is no skin at all to protect you.

At the beginning of her shift, Claire thought she was ready to face whatever challenges the day might bring. A hazardous procedure, a difficult one-handed knot, tears spilled when her voice materialized bad news. But she wasn’t – and the loss awaiting _broke_  her.

“What do you have?” She questioned the A&E doctor who had summoned her when she entered reanimation, while skilfully adjusting her disposable gloves.  

“Ten-year old boy, hit and run.” Her colleague replied tiredly, while trying to intubate. “I can’t see a damn thing with all this blood!”

“He’s probably bleeding into his belly too.” Claire’s hands moved on his exposed abdomen, impossibly small on the huge stretcher. “His pulse is filiform, he’ll go into shock without a viable airway.” When she moved to take a better look at his chest and neck, the world seemed to tilt, taking away her centre of gravity.

_Ewan_. The boy she had helped escaping the authorities with his loving father. Stoically living a life on the run, filled with perils and uncertainty, to be with the one person who truly cared for him.

“No!” She gasped, her palms resting on his chest, where a faint heartbeat still served as metronome for his life. “Please,  _no_!”

One hour and twenty-nine minutes later, Claire declared his death in a rasp, his blood – still warm – staining her skin almost to the elbows. She was breathless from trying to resuscitate him with cardiac massage, her arms and lower back sore. She seemed to be inside a tunnel, where she kept running towards a light that would never come, uselessly  _reaching_.

“I have to –“ She blurted to the rest of the saddened team, as a nurse covered the boy’s body and bruised face with a fresh sheet.  _Blindingly white_. The loss of a child was always a heavy burden on every heart it came in contact with. It was an ending in itself, for everyone. A  _full stop_ , on an ongoing sentence.

Mechanically she walked to the restroom down the hallway, unable to comprehend the words other people directed at her, nodding without knowing what she was agreeing with. She closed the cubicle door behind her and, kneeling beside the toilet, violently vomited – her breakfast, her uselessness, maybe shards of a broken heart, cutting her from within.

She sat for a long time on the floor, helpless to move, a sense of profound depersonalization seizing her every thought. She was there, slumped on the floor, and simultaneously still on the A&E room, pumping a heart which refused to carry on. A flicker of light played on the ground and she observed it without caring for anything else.  _Existing_ , because unfortunately she still could.  

“Claire.” A deep voice called, followed by a knock on the door. “Are ye there?”

She moaned a response and folded her arms over her head.  _Alone._  She was better alone.

“I can hear ye inside.” Jamie spoke gently, as if trying not to spook a skittish horse. “I just came from the A&E.  _Ewan_ – I -  _I know_. Ye shouldna be alone.”

Claire looked at her hands, noticing there was blood under her fingernails. She felt disgusting, tainted,  _a failure_  on her own skin.

“Please, Beauchamp.” Jamie pleaded, sounding heartbroken. “Let me help ye. Open the door.”

The female surgeon crawled to get up and opened the door, blankly staring at Jamie, who was looking at her with growing preoccupation.

“Do ye want to talk?” He asked softly, as she avoided his eyes. The previous void, that massive empty space, seemed to be rapidly flooding with tears.  _Overflowing._

“I  _can’t_.” She croaked, flexing her fingers against the growing rigidity caused by the drying blood and prolonged contact with the cold floor.

Jamie nodded, pursing his lips in trepidation. “May I touch ye?”

She shrugged, as if his actions were totally indifferent to her, but finally nodded in consent. Jamie gently held her hand, entwining their fingers, now trembling together. He guided her, pliable and docile like an infant, towards the lavatory, where he patiently washed her bloodied hands with soap, never letting go of her hand.

As the water swirled down the drain, light pink with bubbles, Claire closed her eyes. “He is  _dead_.” She sobbed, a sound that was like an old tree cleaving, almost inaudible and yet terrifying. Her forehead gradually leaned against his shoulder, covered in his customary blue scrubs, and she began to cry in earnest. Wordless, his arms surrounded her, her wet hands finding the nape of his neck and making him shiver.

“ _I - can’t - breathe_.” She eventually told him, hiccupping amidst unstoppable tears, her voice muffled by emotion and the fabric of his uniform.

“Aye. Ye’re in shock.” He kissed the top of her head with tenderness, drawing soothing circles between her shoulder blades. “Ye need to rest. I’ll call Joe to cover for the rest of yer shift and I’ll take ye home.”

He shielded her from prying eyes as they made their way across the hospital, protecting her against uncomfortable questions and worried words, discretely explaining that she had faced a rough day and conversations wouldn’t help at the moment.

Jamie drove her in his car, respecting her silent plea for a wordless journey, throwing her cautious glances from the corner of his eyes. She curled in the front seat, covered with his jacket, uncontrollable tears rolling down her face.

“We’re here.” He said in a whisper, when he parked outside her building. She looked at him with harrowing eyes.

“Will ye come in?” Claire asked. For a moment, ancient words felt suspended between them.  _Dinna invite me in if ye dinna mean it_. Before he could answer, she was out of the car and walking towards the building. He followed.

Claire opened the door and wandered through the living room, lighting the soft table lamps in the corners, while Jamie awkwardly stood by the entrance. Eventually, Claire sat on the coach, biting her bottom lip as her body shook with abandon.

“ _Fuck._  I’ve lost patients before.” She gasped, almost appalled with her frantic behaviour. “It’s not like I’m fresh out of Med School.”

“It’s not only a patient ye lost today, Claire.” Jamie said in a rough voice. “But all the hope ye placed on his happiness. Ye fought for him, twice over. The defeat is unimaginable.”

“It’s so  _unfair_!” She felt childish just from howling it, but it was the utmost truth. The only certainty on such a terrible day. Her eyes were painfully dry and prickly, her throat scratched from sobbing. Claire felt empty of everything, desolated like a barren land.

“What can I do for ye?” Jamie kneeled in front of her, encapsulating her considerably smaller hands between his balmy palms. “How can I help?”

“I need –“ She brushed her temple, unhinged.  _I need you. Please._  “To  _feel_. I need to feel anything.”

Jamie studied her carefully, his eyes hooded. “What are ye asking me?”

“I want to be touched.” Claire said almost breathlessly, tentatively touching his high cheeks. “If you want to. I know I have no right to ask.”

He deterred himself for a moment, seemingly spent in a private battle, troops divided between head and heart. And then, with slow and calculated moves, he took her in his arms – her nose pressed against the hollow of his clavicle - and walked towards the open door to her bedroom.

Jamie laid her down with exquisite gentleness, the room immersed in shadows, forming dreamy patterns on the ceiling. He stretched himself beside her, adjusting to her body so they could face each other. She heard the echo of him again, in another night when he had looked after her  - “ _if that is what ye need to stay whole_.”

Claire licked her chapped lips, looking at him under her still-moist lashes. He sighed and traced the outline of her face with his fingertips, from temple to jaw, detaining only on her lips, which he delicately caressed with his thumb.

Unbearably slowly, she undressed her shirt, exposing more of her ivory skin. His blue eyes shone in the dimness, hungry for her revelations, unspeakably tender. His index finger slid along her elegant neck and reached the slope of her breasts, outlining the valley between them. She tilted her head back, surrendering to the reprieve he was offering her, while he sacrificed at the alter of her senses. With an adorable mixture of clumsiness and eagerness, he unclasped her bra.

Claire grabbed his shirt and swiftly helped him out of it, caressing his shoulders with her palms, her slender fingers featherlight on the tattoo just above his heart. He was beautiful and the realness of him anchored her to the present, to _life_ , when the day had only showed her death. He was her path to sanity, to  _wholeness_.

His breath shallow and ragged, Jamie cupped her breast, teasing enough to make her moan and trash against him. She moved to kiss his open lips, but he tilted his head and slowly licked the column of her neck. His palm wandered to her stomach, where he traced senseless symbols, which only he knew the meaning of. Feeling the promising descend of his hand, Claire bucked her hips, seeking further contact.

Jamie spent the next few minutes stubbornly taunting her, playing with the waistband of her pants while he savoured her nipples. Every time she sought to return his attentions, he deftly stopped her, focusing everything on her.

“I want to watch ye.” He said in a husky voice while he imprisoned her wrist. Jamie only managed to enhance her arousal, leaving her feeling out of her body with a slippery need, that burned all her doubts. “I won’t take anything else. Ye’re not mine yet.”

Ultimately, he found his way to her, first with a finger that was no more than a postponed promise, and then with two calloused fingers that sent her reeling. Panting and mindlessly rocking her hips, she yearned for more – all of it,  _all of him_  -, even if she suspected that her completion would come with a cost, a toll for the road where no more walls were allowed.

Acknowledging her growing pleasure, he pressed his thumb against her in lewd motions, while she increased the pace of her own body on his hand. The saltiness of tears was on the back of her throat, although she couldn’t even begin to think what brought on such emotion to her shores.

“Jamie.” She called out, scratching his back while she rode his hand to her thunderous ending, his evident arousal between them, barely hidden on his pants. “ _Jamie_.”

The first time she called him by that name and meant it with all her heart.

Ruthlessly conquered by sleep, even if somewhere embarrassment was also creeping in, she allowed him to lull her to slumber, his hand caressing her with a patience that bordered on worship. The ache of loss had been smothered by a burning sensation, a flame that she could use to guide her way.

In the morning Claire was alone, lovingly covered with a quilted blanket, and the kiss the healer finally gave her when she was asleep could have been just a dream.


	15. Date

##  **_Part XV – Date_ **

Not yet feeling quite like herself, Claire decided to use a couple of accumulated vacation days in order to calm her head and find that fragile balance between professional distance and caring for others. She took long walks in Portobello beach, enjoying the carelessness and grace of waves, read a new promising book and planned a short holiday with Geillis in Ibiza later in the year. Ewan was a new ghost and she needed to learn how to live with him, haunting her.

James Fraser was a recurrent thought in all those activities, taking her by surprise while eating cookies on the couch, taking a shower or contemplating the sea. Too ashamed of her own behaviour, she tried not to replay the entirety of that night’s events – instead flashes crashed into her.  _The set of his mouth when his fingers entered her_.  _Her hand covering his tattoo, searching his heart_.  _His smell on her pillow, feeding her dreams_.   _His voice, impossibly deep, when he told her “I want to watch ye”._

It was a hard reconciliation between the man she once thought she knew and the man slowly being revealed. Once they barely traded words; now he knew her in the most intimate way possible, expanding beyond their peculiar sex encounter, deep into the labyrinthic forest of her soul.

Repeatedly, Claire found herself glancing at her mute phone, half-expecting a new message from him. When none came, she felt strangely disappointed, even if she insisted that relief was the predominant emotion. On more than one occasion, she picked her phone to start texting him, incapable of managing more than a couple of words before furiously deleting the whole thing.

“What can I say?” She whispered to herself, irritated, throwing her offending phone to the other side of the couch. “ _Nice shag, see you Monday_?”

At night Jamie walked in her dreams, uninvited. She came awake, wet and shivering, with a need that her own hand was uncapable of silencing, no matter how dextrously she played her own body. Afterwards, her fingers mindlessly caressed the scar of her appendectomy, frustrated and confused.

Monday eventually arrived, and she went to the hospital, dressing her scrubs and tying her sneakers with a precision that was a soothing ritual, a concentration game. She smiled politely to her colleagues, but no one dared to ask any questions. Most of them had been there, laying on the floor of some bathroom, wondering if any coming victory would be able to erase such loss.

“Ye look different.” Geillis thoughtfully said, glaring at her. Claire was sitting at the nurse’s station, her feet propped up on a chair, looking at lab results.

“Do I?” Claire said distractedly, taking careful notes on a chart. “Must be that new moisturizer you offered me on my birthday. It’s actually quite good.”

“Only the best for ye, babe.” The nurse studied her, as if she were a were a stubborn crosswords enigma. “But that ain’t it. It’s not yer hair either – it looks awful as always. Ye look as if… _Oh_!” And suddenly her face opened in a wide delighted grin. “ _Ye did_. Ye did,  _didn’t ye_?”

“What?” Claire blatantly kept her face towards the monitor, hiding the flush that was creeping on her cheeks.

“ _Who_  was it?” Geillis leaned forward in collusion, her head almost glued with Claire’s. “Was it the wolf-man?”

“I can’t handle a dinner with Christie and you think I’d let him near my knickers?” Claire lowered her voice, raising a sardonic brow. “No, he has enough baggage for you to store your entire megalomaniac wardrobe on.”

“The _fox,_ then _!_?” The ginger opened her mouth, shocked beyond her usual sassiness. “Was it – did he-?”

“He helped me. We haven’t talked afterwards.” Claire shrugged nonchalantly, pilling charts on a neat stack. “That’s all you need to know.”

“What do ye need to know?” Jamie appeared around the corner, his black stethoscope dangling from his neck. He had his impeccable white lab coat over his scrubs, probably coming from the outpatient clinic. His eyes were a lighter shade of blue than the last time Claire had seen him. He looked peaceful.

“I need… _to know how Mrs. Bug is doing_. That’s just it.” Geillis managed to conjure up with relative ease. “Claire did surgery on the old besom and she has been nagging me all afternoon about her drainage tube. I’ll go and check her  _right now_. Leave ye two to talk medical stuff.  _Whatever_.” And she winked at Claire and padded down the hallway like a woman on a secret mission.

Jamie quizzically looked at Claire and she shook her head with a forced smile. “She must be off her meds again.”

“I was wondering,” He tapped his fingers on the counter, seeming perfectly relaxed, as if the last time he had seen her she hadn’t been half-naked, her thighs open for him. “If ye wanted to go to the cafeteria.”

“To the cafeteria?” Claire gulped, fidgeting with her papers and inadvertently dropping her pen. “With you? Together?”

“Aye.” He glared at her flustered face, mystified. “I’m not asking ye out on a  _date_ , Beauchamp. Christ! - If I was, I wouldn’t be taking ye to the hospital’s cafeteria. I can do better, I think.”

“Alright.” She silently urged herself to stop behaving like a bloody fool, as she started to stroll behind him. If he could pretend nothing had happened, so could she. The sudden flash of her hands tangled on the soft hair at his nape wasn’t helping, though.

They ordered extra-large tea mugs and sat in front of each other in the almost empty cafeteria. It was the hour in between, when going for lunch seemed ridiculous but dinner wasn’t allowed unless you were over ninety years old.

Jamie sipped his hot drink with tranquillity, as if drinking tea in silence with her happened to be one of his favourite hobbies.  She thought of several topics for establishing a casual conversation, but talking about the weather seemed pointless when a sizable elephant was sitting between them. Claire threw him a few charged looks, pretending to add more sugar to her tea, but he only smiled back at her.

“I wanted to tell you –“ She started, nervously making her knuckles crack, but he silenced her.

“Please,  _don’t._ ” He whispered softly. “Don’t say ye are sorry and that ye regret it.” Jamie breathed deeply, his eyes searching hers. “Because I  _dinna regret it_. What I gave ye, I gave ye willingly - knowing it meant nothing more to ye.”

“Actually,” Claire brushed her hair away from her face, biting the inside of her cheek. “I meant to say  _thank you_. You brought me back somehow and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay you.”

“Ah.” He seemed pleasantly surprised and slightly embarrassed. “I’m glad I served ye – I mean,  _it_  served ye well.”

“You did – I mean,  _it did_.” Claire rushed over the words, feeling utterly mortified. They blatantly looked away from each other, self-conscious.

“Are ye going out with Christie again?” Jamie asked casually, playing with the small spoon.

“I don’t think so.” She responded, sipping her tea. “He is a very troubled man. And thinks you are quite the homewrecker. He told me about Mona.”

“Did he?” The redheaded man raised a brow, his lips pressed together. “Did he tell you that he stole a midterm exam and tried to make me look like the culprit? I almost was expelled from college because of him. I only tried to warn him about the true nature of the woman he was taking to his bed.”

“ _Surprisingly_ , he didn’t.” Claire said darkly. “Broken hearts have sharp edges.”

“Aye.” Jamie squinted at her and his face softened. “Well Beauchamp, now that we had this first date –“

“I thought you said this  _wasn’t_ a _date_!” Claire hissed, frazzled, almost bumping her mug with her elbow.

“It was to me.” He gave her a lopsided smile. “We drank together and managed not to argue for an astonishing quarter of hour. Maybe ye’d consider coming for dinner at my place tomorrow?”

“You can  _cook_?” Claire twitched her nose.

“I  _might_.” He grinned back at her, a hint of smugness on his eyes. “Ye’d have to come and see for yerself. Besides, this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance for ye to mock my house and everything I own.”

“Alright.” Claire hawked, trying to disguise the sudden thrum of her racing heart. “Well played, Fraser.  _Well played_.”


	16. Firsts

##  **_Part XVI – Firsts_ **

Deciding that it was the role of a good guest to bring something to enrich dinner, Claire tried to make a cake. Although she carefully followed the recipe, measuring the ingredients with a surgeon’s precision, the apple dessert came out of the oven looking thoroughly burnt around the edges while still completely liquid in the middle.

Huffing and puffing in outrage, Claire threw the baking disaster to the trash can. Stubbornly resolved on having something to display her own –  _shaky_ , at best - cooking merits, she blended a batch of gooey cookie dough, scattering colourful sprinkles on top before committing it to gods of the baking oven.

Calculating that she had just enough time for a quick shower as the batter turned to golden crisp marvel, she rushed to the bathroom. A few minutes later, walking out of the bathroom with a towel carefully wrapped around her wet hair, Claire spotted a cloud of ominous smoke gathering in her kitchen. Cursing in earnest, she rushed to the oven and retrieved what looked like scorched spoils of war, almost burning her hand on the process of saving her tray.

Resigned to the fact that fruit might be the only option left – unless it suddenly decided to wither on the way to Jamie’s house – she gloomily arranged a plate of strawberries and pineapple. A terrible panic was installing in her chest, as she tried to ignore the bad omens, and finish dressing.

“It’s only  _a dinner_.” She grunted to herself, grabbing her purse. “Food, free booze and I’m out of there.  _That’s all.”_

“Hello.” Jamie smiled, welcoming her at his front door, after she hesitantly knocked while precariously balancing her fruit plate. Claire quirked a brow in amusement noticing his black apron, where it read “ _Good with a blade_ ” in white lettering. “Dinner is almost done.”

They stood awkwardly in front on each other, undecided about the appropriate way to greet. Eventually Jamie moved and softly kissed her cheek, her skin tingling underneath. Claire thought he might have inhaled deeply when he leaned against her, the whisper of his breath on her skin.

“Ye smell like smoke.” He tilted his head, a humorous glint in his blue eyes. “Do ye still have a house to return to?”

“We are not talking about  _that_ , Fraser.” She sniffed primly, mechanically handing over the plate. “I brought fruit. It’s good for your health, you know.”

“Ah.” Jamie laughed in mirth, sliding to the side to allow her inside his apartment. “Thank God I made lasagna.”

His house was spacious and ordered, with notes of modern and edgy lines tastefully combined with homely objects. The shelves of the enormous book case in his living room were filled with books and drawings, everything impeccably clean.

Claire sat on a high stool at his kitchen counter, smiling softly as Jamie served her a generous whiskey portion as appetizer. Silently she observed as he moved naturally and competently around the kitchen, finishing their dinner of rich meat lasagna, dripping with tomato sauce and cheese, complemented by a colourful and fragrant herb salad.

“Are you sure _you_  did this?” Claire closed her eyes in bliss, after tasting the first mouthful, stopping herself before moaning loudly in pleasure. Noticing his proud gaze, she added dispassionately. “It’s not bad.”

“I’m glad ye like it, Beauchamp.” He ate slowly, his eyes intently locked on her. She was becoming acutely self-aware and mulishly glared at her overflowing plate instead of his handsome face.

“Is this the part when we start to share our lives and you hope I end up teary eyed and ready to make out with you on top of your sink?” Claire played with a bit of lettuce, glancing at him under her lashes. A counterstrike was always her favourite approach, whenever she got too uncomfortable, too vulnerable. Since  _that_  night in the shadows of her room, he seemed to live just under her skin, always on the verge of crawling out, in possession of the frailty within.  _Disarming_ her with a look.

“My sink is dripping, I’m afraid.” He smiled mischievously, cleaning his full lips with a soft napkin. “It would be verra wet and troublesome.” The way he said the words “ _verra wet_ ” left her on the verge of blushing and slightly breathless.

“I remember you lost a brother. Do you still have any siblings?” Claire asked, adamant on changing the subject. His eyes softened.

“Aye, I have a sister.” Jamie offered her a lopsided smile, pouring her another glass of luxurious red wine.  He seemed very tender, but somewhat sad. “I think ye’d get along just fine, if ye managed to survive the first few minutes together. She still lives in my hometown. We have been estranged for a few years.”

“What happened?” Claire asked gently, making a deliberate effort to show him she was not trying to pry.

“My father died.” He avoided her eyes, softly swirling the wine inside his own glass. His voice was deep and slightly unhinged. “When ye dinna ken how to deal with that amount of pain, it’s just easier to offer it to someone else. Pain, like misery, loves company. The wounds we gave each other have barely scabbed over.”

“I’m sorry.” Claire said with honesty, troubled by his loss. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Ye can ask me anything.” Jamie’s face crinkled with a smile. “I’m sure ye can get me embarrassed verra quickly with the right questions, Beauchamp.”

“Is that a challenge, Fraser?” She raised a brow delighted, slightly leaning back to adjust the waist of her trousers, her belly nicely squeezed after gorging a pile of lasagna. “First kiss?”

“Hmm.” Jamie closed one eye in a funny grimace, pretending to think carefully. “A girl in school, I was about thirteen. She had onions for lunch. I  _should_  have asked beforehand.”

Claire snorted, nibbling on the fresh and sweet strawberries Jamie served her.  _Light-hearted_. “Fourteen. He had braces and a clear lack of practice. I was not in a teaching mood. First time having sex?”

“Dinna hold back, lass.” Jamie mussed up his hair, a lovely shade of crimson on his high cheeks. “At nineteen. Lasted a grand total of twenty seconds and four thrusts. She never spoke to me again.” He searched her eyes, his own a shade darker than before, speaking of danger. “I’ve become  _a lot_  better at it since.”

“Ah.” Claire looked away, playfully stealing a fat strawberry from his own plate. “Mine was pleasant enough. I was seventeen. He was older and kissed my cheek before rolling off me. A bit painful, to be honest, because he was too impatient to take his time before. Not the last time love has hurt me though.”

“And the first time ye were in love?” He asked slowly, mindlessly brushing the shadow of a stubble appearing on his chin.

“Frank.” She answered in a low voice, half-choked. Hawking nervously and attempting for a mild smile, Claire added. “ _The bastard_.”

They remained silent, while Jamie respectfully gave Claire a reprieve to recover from her painful memories, pretending to be in a hurry to put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher.

“And you?” She questioned him, when he finally returned to sit next to her, her eyes mercifully dry and curious. “Who was your first love?”

He smiled coyly and gently tucked a curl behind her ear, his fingertips brushing the side of her neck in passing. “I think I’ll tell ye that on another date. I have to keep ye interested, aye? Besides, there is only so much indignity one could handle without being properly drunk.”

“Shall we call it a night, then?” They walked to the living room and Claire fidgeted with her fingers, avoiding looking too openly to the brown leather couch. Plenty of space for two bodies,  _moving together_. “You must be exhausted from all the cooking.”

“I thought ye might want to stay.” Jamie said in a husky voice, a traitorous tinge of pink on his neck. “We could watch a movie. I have a couple of good ones.”

Her heart seemed to hammer inside her chest, a vice grip on her belly that was both hot and cold.

“Alright.” She nodded and followed him to the couch, where she sat very poised and entirely too aware of his proximity. The vice grip was escalating to a whirlwind, panic flooding her and ordering her to summon her defensive walls.  _Danger, fuck, danger._

“ _Breathe_.” Jamie whispered, looking intently at her, his eyes alight and all-knowing. “I just want to sit with ye. We have time, Claire.”

Somewhere along the movie, Jamie’s fingertips found her own, carefully placed on the couch beside her thigh. His hand was very warm and stilled the slight tremor of hers. It was barely a touch, but still  _a connection._  And they remained so until the end of the film and well into the credits.


	17. Malpractice

##  **_Part XVII – Malpractice_ **

Jamie and Claire’s second date occurred at 2.am. on the floor of the locker room, eating chocolate ice-cream – and sharing a single spoon - during a particularly quiet graveyard shift. They laughed about acting like savages, cleaning their sticky mouths on the back of her hands, too tired to get up in search of paper towels.

At one point, their bodies melting against the tiled floor, as the ice-cream had melted on their tongues, Claire almost fell asleep leaning against Jamie’s shoulder. He smelt of disinfectant, chocolate and long shifts. When their phones went off beeping, calling them to the A&E for an incoming trauma, Jamie softly kissed her on the cheek in parting. His mouth lingered just above the corner of her lips, and if she had smiled they would have met on the crinkles of happiness.

On their third date they went to the movies and their hands found each other again, this time palm on palm, fully open against the lines of life, love and loss. He didn’t lock his fingers around her hand, not wanting to corner her. Claire refused to buy popcorn, proclaiming herself vehemently against sugar and satured fat, and Jamie was sensible enough not to point the fact that she ate most of his packet. Afterwards he walked her home and left with an owlish wink, leaving her feeling strangely disappointed and restless.

“Jamie!” She found him in recovery, inquiring about the welfare of a patient in post-operative care. He turned and smiled contently when he saw her. “Murdina Bug has a bowel obstruction,  _damn her_. I’d take her to the OR, but I already have a ruptured spleen to handle. Can you do it?”

“Aye, dinna fash.” He watched her carefully tucking her wild curls underneath the surgical cap, a task that involved several bobby pins and the totality of her ten fingers. “See ye at lunch, then?”

“Last to arrive at the cafeteria gets all the ripe and plump boils to lance for a month.” She raised a brow in challenge. “I’d get cracking if I were you.”

“Ach.” He offered her a cocky smile above his shoulder, already turning to head to the operating theatre. “I’ll be merciful and bring ye coffee when ye are buried in pus.”

Claire snorted and padded to her surgery, softly humming thinking about lunch. The young man under her care was the victim of a motorcycle accident – luckily, he had been wearing a helmet, or she might be preparing for an organ harvest instead of a relatively simple operation. After resecting the mushy mass of spleen, there were no other bleeders visible, and Claire quickly closed the wound with a perfect suture, which she favoured in lieu of stapling the flesh together.

After arriving in the cafeteria and not spotting Jamie anywhere – usually a fairly easy task, since his height imposed in almost any crowd – she victoriously fished her phone from her pocket.

Claire:  _Victory lap. Every boil has your name from here to eternity. I’m hungry, where are you?_

She waited for his answer, or even better his arrival, observing the crowd in the cafeteria. She glanced at the phone every couple of minutes, but no answer came through. When she was already checking to make sure the message had actually been sent, Jamie finally responded.

Fraser: _On-call room._

Furrowing her brow in concern, Claire longingly glanced at the buffet, and quickly strode towards the on-call room.

“Fraser?” She called, softly knocking on the door before opening it. Jamie was sitting on the bed, his forehead pressed against his hands, sorrow pouring out of him. Her heart seemed to dive from the attic of her chest to the basement of her feet. “What happened?” Claire whispered hesitantly, closing the door behind her.

“Mrs. Bug is dead.” His voice was almost a rasp, so much so she thought she had misheard him for a moment. “Died on the table.”

“I understand how you are feeling, Fraser, but –“ She started to try to soothe him, but he raised his head to look at her. His eyes were red on the brim and lifeless, with none of his usual liveliness.  _Devastated_.

“I think  _I killed her_ , Claire.” He whispered haltingly, frantically brushing his fingers against each other. “My mind was away.  _Distracted_ , maybe careless even. I nicked an artery while preparing for the colostomy. I tried to clamp it but couldna reach it. There was  _so much blood_ , Claire.  _Everywhere_. She was lost before I had time to pack her.”

Claire swallowed hard, clenching her fingers on a closed hand. “We all make mistakes, Fraser. We try to dodge them as much as we can, but it’s part of what we do. And complications happen all the time –“ He raised from the bed, looking almost angry, so thoroughly broken she could feel him coming steadily apart.

“This wasna  _a complication_!” He hissed, opening his arms in distress. “My attention was elsewhere, and I was moving too fast. I wanted to get to  _you_.” Jamie admitted in a hoarse voice, almost a sob. “I was  _thinking of you_ , Claire. Clouded by the smile ye gave me only minutes afore.”

“It’s my fault, then.” Claire felt dizzy and nauseated. “Is that what you are saying?”

“No!” His voice quivered, as his back leaned against the empty wall. “The fault lies with no one else but  _me_. But I made a mistake and a life was lost because of it. I won’t pretend otherwise. I won’t dishonour her memory by doing that.”

“It might had happened regardless of it all.” She insisted, coming closer to him. The look on his face was leaving her asphyxiated, _crushed_. “Our hands are always on the brink of doing harm, and the exact same cut can do both. I won’t stand by and watch a brilliant surgeon like you destroy himself. You have to make your peace with this loss.”

“There is no peace for me.” Jamie slightly banged the back of his head against the wall, tormented with grief and guilt. “No peace at all.”

Not knowing how to ease him, or how to force him to see himself though her eyes, Claire moved to him and without another thought kissed him fully on the lips.

First it was a tentative touch, almost a plea, but Jamie was too disturbed to summon his usual self-awareness and restraint. His arms came around her waist, gently holding her in place, as he tasted her bottom lip, gently grazing it with his teeth. Feeling unbearably tender, Claire sought his tongue with her own, one hand on his mussed up red hair while the other gently pushed him to move towards the bed. He moaned into her and lightly caressed the generous curve of her arse. Kissing with a desire that bordered on fury, they stumbled together until their legs hit the edge of the bed.

“No.” Jamie almost moaned, gently pushing her away from his lips, as Claire continued to apply small kisses on his chin and neck. “Please,  _stop_.”

“Why?” Claire babbled breathless, her lips bruised from her hunger of him, arousal clouding everything else. Her hand tried to grab the hem of his scrubs to undress him, but he held her wrist in place.

“Stop.” He repeated, exhausted and vulnerable. “ _I canna_.”

“But I want this!” She touched his face with her palm, feeling more than seeing the goosebumps on his warm skin.

“No,  _ye don’t_.” Jamie retroceded, placing a careful distance between them. “Ye only seek me in moments when ye feel that it wouldna have to truly mean anything. When ye were drunk out of yer mind and so broken ye thought ye’d go mad. Offering yerself to me as a consolation prize, right now. And then it’s back to how it used to be.” His voice almost failed. “And I canna take it. Not today.”

“It wasn’t a consolation prize!” The female surgeon exclaimed, outraged. “I want to help you – to comfort you.”

“Aye.” He nodded. “But when ye seek me and kiss me it’s with an excuse. Not to show me ye want me.”

“If you don’t want  _me_ , just say so.” Claire seethed, acutely feeling the embarrassment of being rejected.

“Not  _want ye_?” Jamie laughed humourlessly, and he walked to her, gently framing her face with his big hands. “Ye asked me who was my first love.” He studied her, his eyes speaking of dark clouds filled with frosty rain and thunder at distance, trees burning and rivers overflowing. “ _Ye are my first love_. I’ve taken women to my bed and some I even thought I could have lived with. But I’ll never be happy with another woman now. Ye’ve  _wrecked me_ for any other life, Claire. _I love ye_. Every foolish thing I’ve done rests solely on my love for ye.”

“Jamie.” The name still felt foreign on her tongue, a precious jewel, cutting her mouth with its edges. She wanted to say something, tell him that maybe there was a gate now open if he was willing to brave his way through the thorns of her heart. But the paralyzing fear was creeping in, all her demons holding her back, stopping her from running towards him.

“It’s alright, lass.” He turned slightly, hiding from her hesitancy. “I just wanted ye to know that I was ready to wait as long as it took for ye to come to me willingly. Ye’ve shown me yer heart and it is worth the wait.”

“Why are you talking as if you were going away?” She nervously brushed her thigh, feeling the sweat on her palm. “What did you do?”

“ _Malpractice_.” Jamie whispered darkly, avoiding her eyes. “I’ve reported my inadequate conduct to the human resources.”

“Why, Jamie?” Claire said in a hoarse voice, her shoulders slumped in defeat. “Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know how to live half a life, Beauchamp.” He smiled sadly, opening the door to leave. “For me only truth remains.”  


	18. Needle

##  **_Part XVIII – Needle_ **

The air in the room was heavy and overburdened with tension, the smell of nervous cigarettes smoked in haste just minutes before clinging to everyone’s skin. A strange electricity ebbed and flowed in preparation for the  _Morbidity and Mortality_  session, a trial of sorts between peers, where every surgeon visited the cemetery of past mistakes.

_Murdina Bug. Sixty-seven years old. History of diabetes and hypertension. No known allergies. Initially admitted for diverticulitis. Complicated by a severe bowel obstruction, irresponsive to conservative treatment._

Jamie’s voice echoed as he slowly read the chart aloud, pronouncing the words with a semblance of detachment, that Claire knew was nothing but an illusion. He brazenly answered several questions from other surgeons, questioning technical aspects of the procedure and his steps in approaching the catastrophic hemorrhage that led to her premature death.  _No, he was not the primary physician assigned to her case, but substitution amongst colleagues was hardly uncommon on a trauma centre. Yes, he had tried to clamp superiorly but without success. Yes, he had activated the mass transfusion protocol._

“In your report you wrote you were distracted during the early steps of the procedure.” An older female surgeon with white hair and a shrewd gaze asked, flickering through the self-incriminating papers. “Can I ask you why, Doctor Fraser?”

His lips pursed, and Claire could swear he made a conscious effort to avoid looking in her direction. “I’m afraid it was a personal matter, Doctor Hildegard.”

“And you won’t disclose it even to save yourself?” She arched her brows, looking at him above the rim of her glasses. “Your record has been stellar to this date, Fraser. But if you keep throwing yourself under the bus, one might just decide to run you over.”

“I’m well aware.” He said in a calm tone, holding her gaze with his own without shame. Jamie seemed exhausted and remorseful, but not ready to grovel for their mercy. In his mind he had earned whatever punishment was being thrown his way.

“You are very quiet, Doctor Beauchamp.” The Chief of Surgery turned her astute gaze towards Claire. At her right, John Grey was observing Jamie with an air of absolute affliction. “I find you to be one of my most reasonable surgeons and it’s not a secret you two didn’t get along. What do you have to say about all of this?”

Claire slowly exhaled through her nose, finally realizing she had been holding her breath in expectation. “James Fraser is the best surgeon I know. I’ve been doing surgery while suffering from menstrual cramps since residency, so I might have killed a few on that account alone.” She smiled weakly. “The others I just wished I had killed.”

“This is hardly a subject for jokes, Doctor Beauchamp.” Another surgeon hissed from the corner. Claire directed him a cold look.

“Then the joke is on  _us_.” She raised her voice. “It’s a listed and well-known complication for this specific surgery. Regardless of Doctor Fraser’s heavy conscience – which undoubtedly only favours his character – it might have happened regardless. I prefer to save my pitchfork for the real witch-hunts.”

“Very well.” Doctor Hildegard folded her hands, glancing around the table to her surgeons, as if measuring them. “I tend to agree with Claire. However, I can’t ignore Fraser’s confession nor the pressure the board is imposing me, wanting to avoid an expensive lawsuit. I’m recommending a formal psych evaluation with Doctor Christie before making a final decision.”

“Well,  _fuck_.” Claire hissed, reciprocating Jamie’s ominous gaze. She couldn’t imagine a scenario where the psychiatrist wouldn’t use the presented chance to finally seek comeuppance, even if unjustly so.

Fortunately, she wasn’t necessarily contrary to begging, given the right incentive. 

***

Tom Christie’s office was a sanctuary of cleanness, with a collection of somewhat boring interests. Two soft brown armchairs served the purpose of luring patients to share their anxieties, but regretfully no divan was within sight. Clearly, Christie didn’t favour the psychanalysis method, investing more in clinical interviews and in prescribing powerful medications.

She had called him asking for a quick meeting and he had invited her to lunch in his office. A secretary working on her desk in the hallway told her he was seeing to a psychotic patient brought in that morning, and that she was welcome to wait inside his office.

Claire absentmindedly swiped a finger on his desk, impressed with the lack of any dust, and craned her neck to examine his photographs. The one closer to the edge of the mahogany desk featured a relaxed Tom smiling next to a lovely young woman, with raven’s hair and grey eyes, appearing to be less than happy to be photographed. Given the stark resemblance of their eyes, Claire thought they could be related.

As the doctor was taking his sweet time getting to her, the surgeon grabbed a handful of magazines from a basket half-hidden in the corner and yawned. They were mainly old numbers of “ _Psych Life”_ , and Claire distractedly perused the pages, wincing at some particularly strange cases. As she folded the magazine to return it to its rightful place, a stray paper fell from the middle of the last pages.

Thinking it might be a forgotten recipe of Béarnaise sauce or a receipt for dry cleaning, Claire fished the paper from the floor and glanced at it. Her heart seemed to skipped two beats.

“Claire.” Tom Christie suddenly entered his office, a pleasant smile plastered on his lips. “Such a nice surprise to hear from ye.”

“I’m sure it was.” Claire bounced her foot, looking at him with piercing butterscotch eyes, the paper tightly secure between her fingers. “But this isn’t a social visit, Tom. I’m here to ask you to do the right thing regarding James Fraser.”

“Did he send ye?” Christie growled, all warmth escaping his handsome features.

“He has no idea I’m here, talking to you.” She assured him, raising a brow. “He is too good of a man to ask anything for himself. Fortunately,  _I am no man_.”

“What is it about Fraser that drives every woman I desire towards him?” Tom’s lips formed a thin angry line, his fists clenched.

“I can’t speak for Mona.” Claire said softly. “But you can be as admirable, if you choose to. Let go of resentment and write a fair report. Save his career and move on with your life.”

“I’ll follow the protocol.” The psychiatrist said bitterly, moving to sit by his desk. “I’ll interview Fraser and if I deem him a hazard for his patients, I’ll give a formal recommendation to dismiss him from the hospital. As I’m sure he  _will be_.”

“Luckily, I have recently learned you know how to… _bend_  the rules, sometimes.” The surgeon said haltingly, slowly placing the wrinkled paper on the table, the content of a printed e-mail addressed to the “ _Surgical Field_ ” magazine fully visible. “For example, when you submitted my method in Fraser’s name in order to cause a permanent rift between us.  _Very clever_  of you.”

“Are ye threatening me?” Tom’s eyes were fixed on the implicating letter of submission. Although sent from a ghost address, the mere presence of a copy in his office was incriminating.

“Am I?” Claire smiled innocently, pointedly folding the paper again and tucking it away safely in her pocket. “I’m sure the board wouldn’t be impressed with this behaviour, particularly from a doctor who arrived about  _five minutes_  ago to this hospital. No impeccable record to shield you from their wrath.”

“What do ye  _want_?” Christie glared at her, his shoulders hunched in profound distress.

“Since you are so  _experienced_  and  _creative_  at writing, I thought we could manage a head start on Fraser’s report together.” She offered him a lopsided smile and raised a sardonic brow. “Don’t worry, I’ll dictate. Wouldn’t want any more careless  _mistakes_  now, would we?”

Christie glared at her, his eyes almost the colour of anthracite, calculating. “Yer looks are deceitful, Doctor Beauchamp. There is more to ye than what meets the eye.”

“Some people call me  _Needle_.” She grinned wickedly, pointing towards the keyboard with a decided finger. “I might not have a blade, but apply enough pressure and I’ll pierce through even bone. Best you remember that.”

***

“Two years of probation.” Jamie confided in a hoarse voice to Claire and Geillis. They had been waiting for him outside the main conference room, where his destiny was being decided by the board. He looked pale and quite miserable. “Only minor procedures for six months and supervision for a year afterwards. The hospital won’t allow me to make a formal apology to Mrs. Bug’s family. They want the matter buried.”

“I’m sorry.” Claire said gently, stopping herself before patting his shoulder. They hadn’t touched each other since the incident in the on-call room, and even their words had been casual and muffled since then.  “At least you still have your job. We will fight to have the probation reduced.”

“I deserve the punishment.” He tilted his head, stretching his back to release some of the tension. “It’s everything else that disappoints me. Maybe my days here are numbered.”

“What would ye do?” Geillis asked, not-so-discreetly elbowing Claire. The surgeon’s stomach seemed to be occupied by a pile of heavy rocks.  _Jamie leaving the hospital_. _Jamie leaving her_.

“I was offered a position in France a while back.  _Lille_. At the time I thought - well, _I refused_.” Jamie shrugged and blatantly avoided her eyes. “Even after this stain, they might still take me. And I have family in Paris.”

“I can’t believe ye’d leave!” The redheaded nurse protested, punching his arm in protest. “Ye have yer whole life here!”

“Do I?” He smiled tiredly and for a moment the yearning in his eyes took Claire’s breath away. “Once I thought so too. But now I’m not so sure there is a reason for me to stay.” Jamie’s eyes drifted to her, blue and dark and fathomless, a question burning inside with such intensity that not being able to deliver an answer turned a fraction of her soul to ash. With a slight wave of hand, he padded down the hallway to begin his journey to absolution through scutwork in the A&E.

“Ye are  _hopeless_.” The nurse moaned to Claire, once he disappeared from their sight. “Why are ye so  _infuriating_ , woman?”

“What do you mean?” Claire crossed her arms, aghast.

“Because James Fraser just asked  _ye_  to give him a  _reason to stay_.” Geillis shook her head, annoyed. “And ye just stood there, like a scarecrow with bad hair, as if his absence was totally indifferent to ye. When I know bloody well it’s not.”

“What should I say?” Claire bit her bottom lip, nervously brushing her hair away from her face. “ _Stay, while I make up my mind_?  _Stay, even if I might have nothing worthy of your time to give_?  _Stay, so we can be ruined together_?”

“Aye!” The nurse exclaimed, her green eyes intent. “That would be a start, honey. This fear ye parade around like a trench coat to hide from the rain, it’s just an excuse not to feel everything so very deeply.”

“That’s not fair. You know my past, Geillis.” Claire pleaded in a husky voice, fighting a sudden urge to cry. To scream his name. To taste the truth of him in the back of her tongue.

“I do.” Geillis said in a soft tone, patiently rubbing her back. “And that’s how I know that ye aren’t afraid Jamie will hurt ye.  _Not really_. Ye are afraid he will  _make ye happy_.” She squeezed Claire’s hand with her own. “Ye’ve never known happiness without loss, so ye think they always go together. With Jamie, ye might realize losing is only a small portion of being loved right.”


	19. Freehand

##  **_Part XIX – Freehand_ **

After a long night shift – not particularly eventful, which made every second stretch like honey on toast, if much less sweet – Claire decided to walk home. She frequently dispensed her car in favour of feeling the early morning breeze on her cheeks, savouring the sleep still living in other people’s eyes in advance of her own. She enjoyed the scent of freshly baked bread, the crust crispy enough to sing as she ate; the newspapers in the newsstands almost moist from the morning dew, leaving traces of ink on her fingers, that made her feel real and a part of the living world.

That dawn she was distracted, far away from the simple pleasures that usually made her happy. Claire felt a strange sense of urgency, the nagging feeling of being late to a planned meeting, coming alive like a snake ready to pounce after a prolonged slumber.

For the last couple of days she had watched Jamie from afar, competently doing minor procedures with a quiet acceptance, even if there was no trace of his usual joyfulness. All the while she had turned her feelings and Geillis’ words in her imaginary hands, weighing them in her heart like peculiar stones, trying to determine if they were fit to fly over the calmness of unknown waters. Like a true professional, she simulated Jamie’s absence in her mind, erasing his presence from the shelves of her where he had perched himself on. The outcome was like living on permanent life support – heart beating, lungs breathing, a body working well enough towards nothing at all.

When the sudden wail of a child, protesting against being placed in the car seat, summoned her back to reality, Claire realized she was heading in the wrong direction. Puffing in irritation, she turned to start the journey towards her house, only to realize she was standing in front of Jamie’s apartment building.

Claire looked down to the pavement, breathing deeply, her fists closed with such force her nails wounded her palms. Before she could stop herself, she enjoyed the negligence of a rushing neighbour who left the main door open and infiltrated the building.  

“ _Fuck_.” She cursed herself after buzzing at his door, realizing Jamie was probably still asleep, as he had the day off from the hospital. She had no rehearsed speech or clear idea of what had driven her to his door, when the sensible thing would definitely be find her own bed and sleep the recklessness off. Claire gritted her teeth, determined not to transform herself into a babbling mess.

“Beauchamp.” Jamie greeted her in a husky voice, when he finally opened the door. He was wearing an old  _University of Edinburgh_  t-shirt and comfortable grey sweat pants, his auburn hair entirely mussed from rolling in bed during the night. “What are ye doing here? Is something amiss?”

“May I come in?” Claire asked softly. Whatever she was going to say, it wouldn’t benefit from being heard by the next-door neighbour, a professional eighty-year-old tittle-tattler. Jamie nodded and moved to the side, allowing her in.

Claire swallowed hard, fidgeting with her fingers and cursing her telltale sweaty palms, as Jamie observed her with an expectant look on his attractive face.

“Well?” He raised a brow and crossed his arms, when it became apparent she was severely tongue tied. Claire solemnly regretted not giving him a chance to drink some coffee first.

“I’m not drunk this time.” She said almost inaudibly, finally meeting his eyes full on. “Nor broken.” Claire laughed nervously, pulling at the sleeves of her blue sweater. “Well, not  _more than my usual_ , I guess. And I’m still  _here_.”

“I don’t –“ He started, his caerulean eyes widening in disbelief.

“You  _crept in_.” She whispered, tilting her head and offering him a tentative smile, both tender and restrained. “Once you asked me why I came to hate you, when we seemed to get along at first.” Claire licked her lips, gaining time to order her rioting thoughts. “I told you the truth, but maybe not  _all of it_.”

“And ye came here to elaborate on that?” Jamie leaned against the wall, watching her fumbling hands intently, a flash of amusement clouding his eyes.

“You know  _me_ , always wanting to have the last word.” She impatiently brushed her hair away from her face, her smile steadier. “Beyond my feminist inclinations and your careless disregard for being an agent of change, the truth is that I had to push you away. You were  _creeping in_ , almost under my skin without me noticing it.”

“How  _rude of me_.” He gave her a lopsided smile, raising his chin. His face was soft, as she hadn’t seen since their last date, when he had spent the movie credits looking at her with an inscrutable look that left her unsteady and throbbing.

“ _Very_.” Claire walked towards the kitchen countertop, playing with an orange to keep her hands occupied, forcing herself to keep talking. “Beyond Medicine, there is nothing I have ever loved and surrendered myself to that I haven’t lost, with a great deal of pain. I guess I’m more of a coward than I thought, because I allowed fear to start making all the decisions.”

“Self-preservation.” Jamie said in a low voice, respectfully keeping a distance between them. “If ye keep sailing within sight of the shore, ye’ll never know the thrill of the ocean, but ye’ll probably never drown either.”

“Indeed.” The female surgeon breathed deeply, letting the orange roll away from her hand. “Except  _I’ve been drowning_  ever since you revealed yourself as  _Scalpe_ l. I knew I had allowed you in by then and I panicked, because I think I knew – deep down – you’d fight for me. This push and pull we have, it has always been a way of getting closer, never further apart.”

“ _Claire_.” The way he said her name –  _her_  name, in opposition to a professional title or a friendly moniker - almost made her come undone. “Why are you here?”

“I’m addicted to loneliness.” She slowly, fearfully, walked to him until there was barely a palm between them. “I’ve been alone for  _so long_. It’s like moving back with your parents after living on your own for a while. Nothing seems to fit anymore, in the space that once was more than enough. You have your own schedule and quirks, a way to fold your clothes and a routine in the morning. I don’t know how to share this house of my heart –  _myself_ – with anyone anymore.”

“In spite of that, ye came here –  _willingly_.” Jamie caressed the curve of her cheek with the tip of his fingers. She turned her head to better feel his touch and folded her own hand around his fingers.

“Yes.” Claire sighed, feeling dizzy from his featherlight touch. “I don’t know everything yet. But it  _means_  something.” Her lips searched his and she whispered against his breath, fresh from toothpaste, just before she finally kissed him. “You mean something to me,  _Jamie_.”

It was not gentle, even if there was fear there to be sure. Claire’s anxiety made her bold, desperate to quell all her doubts with the taste of his tongue, to cut all the binds holding her back with the strength of the fingers that almost bruised her waist. She sucked on his bottom lip, revelling on the deep moan that escaped his throat when she bit him there. Jamie allowed her dominance, understanding it came from a place of vulnerability; eventually, when she was reassured, his lips forced them to a gentler pace, as he caressed her earlobes and neck with his knuckles.

The goosebumps on her skin served as electrical current to her desire, and Claire proceeded to undress him from his t-shirt. He gave a throaty laugh, perhaps a little ticklish, when she nuzzled the hollow of his chest, her cheek close to his tattoo. He smelt of soap, coriander from his dinner and deep sleep. Claire left a trail with her tongue near his erected nipple, secretly hopeful of tasting his dreams, of finding her own name there.

Slowly he helped her out of her sweater, an inquisitive finger tracing a burning path from her bottom lip down her chin and throat, towards the sternum, well into the valley between her breasts.

“Coral bra.” He said in a sensual voice with a hint of mirth, his thumb drawing suggestive patterns on her ribcage. “Are the  _knickers_ …?”

“ _Yes_.” Claire sucked on his neck, smiling victoriously when he emitted a faint “ _Ah_ ”. He pressed his hips against hers, the bulge of his aroused cock hot against her stomach.

“Planned this, had ye?” Jamie accused, while his index fingers successfully displaced the flashy straps from her shoulders.

“ _Kismet_.” She admitted, half-hissing half-sobbing when he closed his warm mouth around the curve of her now exposed breast, using just enough teeth to make her wild. It was magnificent pain, the kind that made her question true north.

Kissing and clawing each other, they maneuvered towards the living room like a strange four-legged creature. When Claire’s knees hit an armchair making her yelp, they came apart whooping with laughter, every emotion heightened.

The temporary separation of their bodies made them suddenly shy, as they quietly glared at each other, mouths remarkably swollen and both naked from the waist up.

“Are you nervous?” Claire asked in a whisper, holding out her hand to him. Jamie instantly reached out to take it, their palms meeting in such a way that their fingers rested just above the fleeting pulse of each other’s wrist, their hearts silently speaking through the walls of their vessels. They were both shivering, from the hangover of each other’s heat and from pure longing.

“Aye.” Jamie acknowledged, framing her delicate face between his strong and capable hands, his eyes alight with rawness. “I’ve seen ye like this so often in my dreams, Claire.”

“Oh, like _this_?” She bit her lip suggestively, starting to undo the buttons of her jeans, exposing a flash of coral underneath. His eyes darkened, seeming almost dangerous, a different side of the man she had come to crave like the empowering scalpel in her hand.

“And like this.” Throwing her a provocative gaze, he kneeled in front of her, helping her out of her jeans. Holding her eyes with his own, Jamie kissed the promise of warmth between her legs with such reverence that she almost collapsed. “And definitely  _like this_.” Agonizingly slowly he hooked his fingers around her knickers and guided them in the direction of the floor, exposing her whole body to his marvelled contemplation. His palms found their grip on her round arse, his thumbs gently caressing the wings of her hip bones, as he guided her to sit on the armchair, his face secure between her legs.

For the next minutes Claire thought she’d go mad, as Jamie worked with lips and tongue to bring her to completion. She would hear the evocative sounds of him serving her, as she moaned and pleaded “ _harder_ ”, “ _yes_ ”, “ _Jamie_ ”. The world seemed to have shrunk, the axis tilting to rotate around him, kneeling before her in an entirely selfless way. Feeling the growing tension of her legs, as if she was readying herself to physically jump over the edge, his fingers aided his mouth in a successful effort that sent her reeling.

When time finally restarted, Claire pulled him towards her with a trembling hand, fumbling with his pants to care for his need and direct it to her own.

“Not here.” Jamie said almost breathless, kissing her ardently. “ _I want ye in my bed_.”

He effortlessly carried her in his arms, lightly laying her down on his unmade bed, where perhaps he had thoroughly planned what he’d to do her given the chance. Jamie kissed her forehead, eyelids and lips, as she caressed the well-carved slopes of his back, both adjusting to each other, finding the way in which the puzzles of their bodies best matched.

“Do you have - ?” Claire asked, quirking an inquisitive brow and biting her lip in anticipation.

“It’s here somewhere.” Jamie nodded, almost falling from the edge of the bed in his attempt to search his drawer for a condom without interrupting his appreciation of her naked body. Claire snorted and giggled, redeeming herself by helping him with the mechanics of the process.

Sensing her awkwardness – not from doubt, but from being unaccustomed to sharing her body with another soul – Jamie patiently courted her with small words and lingering touches, his hands like the wings of a butterfly on her stomach. “ _Yer body_ , Claire. It’s like drawing freehand.” He nuzzled her bellybutton and her fingers entwined on his soft hair.

Eventually they came together, naturally and confidently, as if they were merely returning home. Slow at first, to best savour the moment and the fit of their joining, and then frantically like a train racing towards the station.

Afterwards Jamie gathered her in his arms, while she slowly recovered from being blinded by light. He sensed the moment reality struck her, the tension in her body as she fought the excruciating flight response. “It’s alright, Claire.” He soothed her with a whisper, relaxing his arms around her just enough so she knew she could leave at her will.  _She didn’t._  “ _Breathe_. It will pass. Just be here with me. Just be  _here_.”


	20. The Morning We Met

##  **_Part XX – The Morning We Met_ **

They laid on their sides in silence, overwhelmed by what they had experienced in the last hour. It seemed like words would only shatter the case of glass they had managed to find together.

Eventually Jamie’s hand tenderly brushed her arm, all the way to her shoulder, his gentle open palm cupping her breast in a gesture that was more security than enticement, more reassurance than possessiveness. Feeling on the very edge of herself, Claire couldn’t avoid recoiling, her body arching away from his touch.

The pain in his eyes was absolute, although he was rapid to disguise it for her sake. Claire felt treacherous, a serpent shedding the skin he had just thoroughly loved, but her reactions came quickly and overwhelmingly, in spite of her heart’s warnings.

He slowly raised from the bed without uttering a word and made his way to the adjoining bathroom. Claire rolled in bed covering her chest with the rumpled sheet and her eyes with a mortified hand, hearing the sound of the shower running. Desperately trying to summon that place of quiet strength where Jamie had awaited her all along, and the scraps of that intense feeling that had driven her to buzz on his door, Claire got up and padded to the bathroom.

She could see his remarkable figure through the somewhat frosted glass of the shower door; Jamie had his hands braced on the tiled wall, his head bent down under the soothing force of the warm water. Sensing her presence – perhaps the regret in her eyes – he turned and looked at her. With a trembling hand Claire opened the door separating them.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, her voice still unhinged from their lovemaking. Jamie studied her with piercing blue eyes, his mouth eventually twitching in a small smile.

“Would ye like to scrub in,  _Doctor Beauchamp_?” He invited, his tone low and whole-hearted, even if Claire could still detect a reluctance about him that undoubtedly she had earned.

“Always glad to assist,  _Fraser_.” Claire smirked and joined him under the spray, sighing when the hot water hit her taut muscles, sore from enthusiastic movements and burdening tension. Jamie passed her the soap and offered her space under the shower, smiling pleasantly; but he didn’t move to touch her in any way, even accidentally in such close proximity.

Hesitantly Claire raised a hand and touched his chest, the tattoo like a target where she could aim to reach his heart. He stopped moving, studying her intently,  _expectantly_ , his breathing shallow. Stubbornly holding on to all her resolve and courage, her lips found a way to follow her fingers, and she kissed the faded black ink wishing all the ancient pain away. Claire’s initiative to touch was the signal Jamie had been waiting; his strong arms came around her, hugging her against him in a replication of the gesture shared after their joining.

“ _Forgiven_.” He kissed the top of her moist brown hair, longer now that the water had mastered the curls into cascading submission.

“I feel like a ball of yarn.” She confessed, inhaling the soapy scent of his skin, fighting the urge to bite him and leave a visible mark. “You keep pulling the thread and unravelling me and I’m afraid I’ll became nothing when you are done.”

“Ye are sae many things, lass.” He asserted, his rumble barely audible over the sound of the crashing water, his fingers drawing circles on her wet skin. “No one can take that away from ye, Claire. If I unravel ye it’s just so I can see it _all_.”

“Aren’t you afraid of losing control?” She asked him, her arms folding around his waist.

He gently started to apply fragrant shampoo on her hair, massaging her scalp with disarming kindness.  “Are ye?” Jamie questioned back.

“ _Yes_.” For a moment she held her breath and submerged her face under the stream, surrendering to the peculiar feeling of time running out. “I think that’s why I became a surgeon. I mean, I’ve always had this almost preternatural sense when a bone is broken or there is blood rushing where it shouldn’t. Like there is enough rope in me to build a bridge between what has been damaged.” He emitted a sympathetic hum, encouraging her to continue. “But I could have been any kind of doctor for that. Some people think being a surgeon is about power, but it’s really about control.”

“And why do ye think ye need it so?” He glared into her eyes, the deep pools of blue all-knowing, as if he had puzzled her long ago and was only helping her in the journey of coming into herself. His thumb traced the scar on her right lower quadrant, made by his own hands, with exquisite tenderness.

Claire combed his wet auburn hair between her fingers, made darker by the flowing water. “In the OR I’m never truly afraid. I know my purpose and the way to manoeuvre my hands to get there. I can’t seem to replicate that feeling elsewhere.”

“Maybe when ye’re in charge of other people’s fears, ye can let go of yer own.” Jamie offered haltingly, closing the water tap. He recovered a fluffy towel from the shelf nearby and skilfully folded it around her body.

“So, are  _you_ afraid?” Claire insisted, as he neatly wrapped another towel around his waist, the muscles in his abdomen gleaming with droplets of water.

“Not with you.” He said simply, offering her a hand to guide her back into his bedroom. There, he fished an oversized clean t-shirt from a drawer and offered it to her, recovering his discarded sweat pants and putting them on.

Claire sat awkwardly on his bed, braiding her moist curls while Jamie forcibly dried his hair with a towel, his back turned to her. His eyes would sometimes wander to the mirror in the corner, searching her own.  _Making sure she was truly there_.

“Are you going away?” She swallowed hard, scraping her nails together in nervousness. “To France?”

“Do ye want me to stay?” Jamie retorted in a husky voice, deliberately coming to sit next to her. In the golden light flooding the bedroom, she could see a small bitemark just over his clavicle, where she had bitten him when release washed over her. She thought there might be more of them, like a story of desire across his body.

“You know the answer to that.” Claire tilted her head, licking her lips.

“Maybe I need to hear  _ye say it_ , though.” He inhaled sharply, leaning back on the bed. Claire fought against a devastating urge to straddle him and sob into his mouth, a greedy and absolute “ _yes, yes, yes_.” “I’d wait for ye all my life, Claire. I’ve told ye so before. But I need to know if ye’re willing to start the journey to meet me halfway.”

“I came here, didn’t I?” The female surgeon pointed, clenching her jaw. She acutely missed the smell of him on her skin; the rising panic of never again having the chance of mingling together until their borders became uncertain.

“Aye, ye did.” Jamie nodded, the ghost of an awed smile reverberating on his high cheekbones, as if he couldn’t quite believe it yet. “But I won’t be sustained by a kiss and then a gut-punch. I _can_ , but I  _won’t_.” He glared at her, serious and determined. “I ken the pace of yer heart. It’s not easily swayed. But no matter how long it takes, I need to know ye are walking towards me. Towards  _us_.”

“ _I_ want  _you_  to  _stay_. But Jamie, I – I don’t –“ She babbled, feeling the deep pull of the roaring waves, the sea of her fear calling out to her, threatening to cast him away from her.

“I ken that ye think ye canna do it.” Jamie gave her a lopsided smile, amused by her inability to express what he undoubtedly already knew. “I’m not asking for any grand gestures either. Just that ye talk to me, instead of running away.”

“ _Alright_.” Claire agreed timidly. He grinned and pulled her to his lap, making her yelp and giggle. She kissed him ardently until both of them were more than a little breathless and entirely aroused. His hands moved to fondle her exposed arse and Claire moaned when his tongue found a particularly sensitive spot just bellow her ear.

Never a woman to settle without going to battle, she undulated her hips in an entirely wanton way, smiling when he hissed what could only be a vehement  _gaelic_ curse. Nibbling on his lip in a manner that she was steadfastly learning made him almost berserk, Claire redoubled her efforts. The result was a pinch on a nipple across the cotton of her borrowed t-shirt, that made her see colourful constellations on her closed eyelids. Clawing his back, she sucked on his jawline, pulling on his hair until he grunted in delightful pain.

With an effortless move, Jamie raised her with a hand while he slid his pants with the other, sparing just enough time to ensure they were protected before he settled her against him. They both whimpered in relief, before she started to move on him in earnest.

The image of him - cheeks flushed in pleasure, eyes closed in bliss, tangled hair still moist, laughing and cursing in turns under her – was one of the most erotic things Claire had ever experienced. He gave himself over to her with complete abandon, a freedom that was not only inspiring but overwhelming in itself. Jamie didn’t move to finish undressing her, merely rolling up the shirt to graze her stomach and caress her breasts above the fabric, leading her to believe that seeing her in his clothes was perhaps as enticing to him, as the vision of him at her mercy was to her.

“ _I’m a mess_.” She breathed out with difficulty, controlling the pace for a moment, wishing their connection to go on forever. “You’ll regret ever meeting me,  _James Fraser._ ”

As if to disprove her, his thumb dutifully touched her in time with her movements and within seconds she shattered.

“ _Never_.” He vowed, moving gently but steadily underneath her, allowing her to come back to him. His big hand cradled her thrown-back head, tracing the outline of her temple and cheek. “I can still see ye the morning we first met at the hospital. Yer hair was longer then, ye had a wee piercing on yer helix, just here.” Jamie reverently touched a spot in her ear. “It made ye look fierce, although it didna last long.”

“It infected.” Claire panted, tracing his bottom lip with her tongue. “It was an act of rebellion. I actually liked it.”

“We worked the A&E that day together and some nitwit drunk tried to grope ye.” Jamie hissed when Claire picked up pace again, squeezing her waist. “Ye told him  _“See this needle here? If you go on acting like a pervert, I might be convinced ye need a prostate biopsy.”_ I think I knew it then. _”_

“That I have an anger management problem?”Claire raised a brow jokingly, biting her tongue to stop herself from moaning aloud.

“That ye could cut me  _wide open_.” He suddenly sat up, adjusting her so they were facing each other, his forehead leaning against the curve of her neck. “I’ll never  _ever_ regret it. No matter what happens, the ship of my soul is made of sturdy sails. And ye have been the wind all along."


	21. Heart-shaped

##  **_Part XXI – Heart-shaped_ **

“Stop that.” Claire said mildly annoyed, as they walked together across the block that led to the  _Royal Infirmary_.

“Stop what?” Jamie retorted with a pretence of innocence, as he continued to gaze at her with intense mischief in his eyes.

“That  _look_.” She squinted threateningly, adjusting her loose bun. Their hands almost touched each other as they walked, but not quite – sometimes their index fingers softly brushed the back of each other’s hands, as little antennas transmitting the intensity of their yearning.

“Which look?” He offered her a lopsided smile, the glint in his eyes intensifying. He looked radiant, even with deep dark circles surrounding his eyes from a sleepless night.

Claire had slept in his arms sometime during the afternoon lulled by his voice reading aloud, after he had cooked her a very late breakfast of buttery scrambled eggs and crunchy toast. Eventually, she made a weak attempt at going home - only for them to be engulfed by a blinding need to touch, that was thunderously quelled when he bent her over against the door and took her with powerful thrusts, bruising her hips but never her heart. Throughout the night they had slept fitfully, searching for each other in bed as the hands of a clock meant to meet at a certain time. When dawn had arrived, they wordlessly made love with exquisite tenderness, Jamie’s mouth kissing away the soreness of every previous rough touch.

“Like you’ve just seen me naked.” Claire pointed, lightly elbowing him on the ribcage, a soft blush on her cheeks that undoubtedly could be attributed to the morning’s briskness.

“ _I have_.” Jamie pointed in a whisper, his eyes roaming her body in a familiar way, dwelling on the soft spot at her navel where he had sucked until the skin turned pink and tender.

“Well, you are not being  _discrete_. Not everybody needs to know we fucked.” The female surgeon argued, her heart pumping madly, the scent of him inebriating in spite of being easily mistaken with her own.

“Is that all we did?” He intently looked at her, his fingers mindlessly brushing his bottom lip, still swollen from her teeth. “ _Fuck?”_

Claire looked at the cobblestones, her breath catching in her throat. She could feel his expectant gaze, awaiting her answer as silence grew between them. Claire imagined his beating heart in her palms, fragile and open, her own racing with the decision to throw it away or open a door inside her chest where it could live and maybe thrive.

“ _No_.” She eventually said, her voice almost inaudible. “But I don’t want people to feel like they’ve earned the right to gossip about us.”

Once again Jamie looked as if he could see straight through her, smell her hesitation and taste her doubts; while Claire was only half-aware of the frailty of the precious seed they had planted together.

“I won’t tell a living soul.” He promised solemnly, softly squeezing her elbow in passage, before he placed further distance between them to reassure her. “Unless ye strip for me in the scrubbing area,  _Beauchamp_ , I think we’re safe. Since I’m serving my sentence away from the operating room, I think ye’ll have to manage without getting wicked in the workplace.” Jamie raised a brow mockingly.

“ _Ah, bloody, ah_.” Claire snorted dryly, as they made their way across the sliding doors. “Get a grip on those wet dreams,  _Fraser_.”

“Claire!” A vibrant voice with a strong accent called, as they logged in for their shift. Claire turned, spotting a plump brunette woman with blue eyes rushing to meet her, a delighted smile on her round face.

“ _Louise_?!” Claire gawked, incredulous, as the strange woman hugged her mightily. “What are you doing here?”

“Working,  _ma chère_ Claire.” The french woman giggled, holding Claire by the arms to best admire her. Her blue eyes, lighter than Jamie’s, were lively and astute. “You haven’t change a thing,  _ma grande amie_.”

“Neither have you.” Claire smiled tenderly, her voice hoarse with instant emotion. “When did you arrive? I can’t believe you didn’t warn me, you devilish woman!”

“It was a last-minute decision, really.” Louise admitted, waving a dismissive hand. “Doctor Hildegarde asked me to come and replace one of her surgeons for a time – it seems the man had a  _sneeze_  –“

“You mean a  _hiccup_ , not a  _sneeze_.” Claire laughed nervously, her eyes searching for Jamie, who had respectfully retired to the background to allow their reunion. “Jamie, this is my long-time friend, Louise de La Tour.” The newly-arrived surgeon smiled politely, only then noticing his presence. “We met when I did an internship in France, under Chief Hildegarde. We were pretty inseparable back then. Louise, this is James Fraser. He is – well, he is -“ Claire clearly hesitated, momentarily struggling to find the proper way to introduce him.

“ _The hiccup_.” Jamie said pleasantly, offering his hand to Louise, his blue eyes amused. “I’m the surgeon on probation. Thank you for coming to help, Doctor De La Tour.”

“ _Louise_ , please.” She patted his hand amiably after shaking it, remarkably unfazed by his imposing figure or by the awkwardness of the situation. “I couldn’t refuse Doctor Hildegarde. And it’s my true pleasure. A  _magnifique_  opportunity to catch up with this one.” The brunette winked at Claire. “And to properly wish her a  _joyeux anniversaire_!”

“What?!” Jamie tilted his head to look at Claire, surprised. The female surgeon was flushing madly and looked positively horrified. “Today is yer  _birthday_?”

“ _Mais oui_!” Louise nodded vigorously, ignoring her friend’s murderous looks. “We must celebrate later!”

“ _Much_  later.” Claire grunted, looking around as if afraid a surprise party was being prepared, with balloons and hors d’oeuvres invading the lobby. “I have to work, Louise. I’ll meet you for drinks later at the bar across the street.”

“ _Bien_.” Her friend smiled contentedly. “It was a pleasure, James. Maybe you can join us tonight?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Louise.” Jamie assured her emphatically in his Scottish lilt, presenting Claire with a charged look. The visiting surgeon exclaimed in excitement, traded another couple of quick french remarks with Claire, and was on her way to formally meet the board.

“ _Don’t_.” Claire warned Jamie, before he could open his mouth. “I get older every  _damn_ day. Some days faster than others, or so it seems.” She shrugged uncomfortably. “I never made a big deal of it, and you shouldn’t either. Let’s just act normally.”

“Ye’ve managed to hide the date of yer birthday all these years we’ve been working together.” Jamie pointed, quirking a ruddy brow. “I hardly think that’s  _“acting normally”_ ”. He marked the words with a gesture of his hands.

“I should get to my surgery.” She said curtly. Jamie grabbed her hand and pulled her to a quiet corner next to the locker room.

“I know ye need to go to the OR now.” Jamie told her in a soft tone, squeezing her warm hand in reassurance. “And I know _why_  ye do. But can we talk later? Just the two of us?”

“ _Yes_.” Claire breathed out, closing her eyes, relishing in the feeling of his touch and the impeding sensation of control brought on by challenging surgery, her drug of choice. He nodded and let her go.

****

The hospital rooftop was deserted in the pink and orange half-light of a cold dusk, deeply contrasting with the crowd that sometimes gathered there during the summer months, enjoying the sole escape from the confinement of the building. Claire sat on a low chair, her feet propped up against the railing, her hands buried deep in her woollen pockets.

She heard his footsteps, strangely light for a man so large, but kept contemplating the fading light until he reached her. He sat beside her, wordless, and for a time they were lost to the unchanging rhythm of the skies.

“ _Why_?” He eventually asked softly, his words almost lost in the breeze. “Why do ye hate it so much?”

Claire tilted her head to slightly hide her face from him, swallowing hard. “My birthday – it always gave meaning to my loss. When I went to my friend’s birthday parties and saw their parents there, that’s when I realized that I had a hole shaped out of two people in my life.” She sniffed briefly, almost laughing unamused. “I was usually pretty good at filling it with stuff. My endless curiosity and stubbornness, for one. But on those days, I swear it could swallow me whole.”

“Mine it’s  _Hogmanay_.” Jamie said in a husky voice, loss dripping from his words as it had dripped from hers. “I pretended it didna exist for three years after my father died. Spent the day stinking drunk a couple more after that.”

Her hand climbed out of her pocket and found his, entwining their fingers together.

“I allowed myself to be hopeful again.” She proceeded, her voice faltering. “With Frank.”

“What did he do?” Jamie’s thumb traced her knuckles, exerting just enough pressure to soothe her.

“On my last anniversary together, he offered me a diamond bracelet.” Claire finally allowed herself to look at Jamie, who was watching her intently. “It was heavy and flashy and –“

“ _Not ye_.” He helped, his fingers coming around her wrist, as if to replace the old memory.

“I should  _have known_  then.” Claire inhaled deeply, gazing at the sky where stars were starting to appear. “That he bought me a gift, all the while wishing I was another person. He knew nothing about me – didn’t care to know, really.”

“I have something for ye.” Jamie whispered close to her ear, awakening shivers down her spine and memories of his breathy voice calling out to her when he came inside her. Jamie placed a small flannel piece on her hand, a small weight in the middle. “My father gave it to me when I entered university.” He explained in a husky voice, while Claire unwrapped a small silver pendent of the  _Rod of Asclepius_ , dangling from a delicate silver chain. “He was so proud I was on my way to becoming a doctor. He died a few months afterwards and I couldn’t bring myself to wear it.”

“I can’t take it.” Claire tried to return the precious item, her hands slightly shaking. “It’s a memory of your father. You shouldn’t give it away.”

“It’s a memory of  _belonging_.” Jamie softly corrected, his fingers closing around hers, the cold metal of the  _asklepian_  secure in their joined hands. “I think it was meant to find ye,  _Needle_.” He nuzzled the side of her head, his forehead leaning against her temple. “I’m not giving it  _away_. I’m giving it to  _ye_.”

“I’m –  _honoured_.” She sighed, fighting back tears. His smile seemed to be made of the appearing stars, eternal and blinding, carrying on no matter the odds.

Gently, Jamie placed the chain around her neck and closed the clasp, kissing her forehead in benediction. “ _Happy Birthday, Claire_.”


	22. Jealousy

##  **_Part XXII – Jealousy_ **

“Did ye have fun,  _Beauchamp_?” Jamie asked, as they distanced themselves from  _Leoch_ ’s crowded front door. As commanded by the newly arrived French surgeon, they had been out for drinks to celebrate Claire’s reluctant birthday, joined by several colleagues and friends.

“I did,  _Fraser_.” Claire admitted, offering him a glowing smile. Her voice was slower than usual, its musicality hidden behind the slight slur of one too many drinks. “Even if I should throttle Louise for telling you all those stories about my time in France.”

“Sae much potential for blackmailing.” Jamie retorted with a lopsided smile, watching intently as she distractedly played with the chain he had offered her only hours before. “I enjoy seeing ye through the eyes of others. I always learn something new.”

“You already knew I have bad taste in men.” She clicked her tongue in mockery and then, undoubtedly realizing Jamie himself could easily be inserted in that category, flushed beautifully. “Well, I don’t mean  _presently_. You are not bad – not bad  _at all_.” Claire proceeded to babble, only interrupting her incoherent apology when he laughed wholeheartedly.

“Aye, lass, I ken yer meaning.” His fingers quickly squeezed hers reassuringly, before he placed his hands in the safety of the pockets of his jacket. “All those sordid stories and Louise doesn’t even know we are –“ Jamie hesitated before he could finish the sentence. The endless possibilities to define their relationship seemed to sway between them, suddenly violent and loud as a howl in the night.

_The antithesis of enemies_.  _Together. Dating. Fucking. Sleeping together. Seeing each other. Making out. Acquainted in a sinful way_.  _My boyfriend. My girlfriend. The one who makes me come._  “ _Well_ ,” Jamie hawked, breaking the tension between them with the blade of his voice, falsely relaxed. “I can only hope for what she’ll have to say  _then_.”

“In spite of her bravado, Louise respects my secrets.” Claire chided, pointing a wobbling finger at him. “I kept hers too, when no else knew she fancied women, after her marriage was dissolved.“

“She seems to be very open about it now.” Jamie pointed, stabilizing Claire by the elbow when she noticeably stumbled. “An articulate, intelligent and independent woman. I’m not surprised ye are such good friends.”

“Yes.” Claire giggled, fluffing her riotous brown hair. “Always cultivating admirers, that’s Louise de La Tour for you. Geillis seemed  _quite taken_  with her too.”

“What do ye mean?” The redheaded man raised a brow, confused. Claire glanced at him slightly surprised, her amber eyes dancing with mirth and curiosity.

“Well,  _you know_.” She vaguely waved her hand, as if displaying the two women in front of them on the sidewalk. “The same way you fancy me.” Noticing his vacant stare, as if the wheels inside his brain had frozen in a polar winter, she puffed in exasperation. “ _Naked. Straddling you._  That wicked sort of way.”

“What – Geillis –“ Jamie blurted, looking utterly flabbergasted. Claire wiggled her brows comically and nodded vehemently. “Ye mean -“

“ _Yes_.” The female surgeon shrugged, clearly unfazed by his surprise. “She has been dating men for a while now, but Geillis is bisexual. I’ve known since the beginning – I thought you might know too, since you seem to be so expedite on fishing information out of her. Louise happens to be just her type.”

Jamie opened and closed his mouth in rapid succession, a blowfish out of water, increasingly more eager for the balm of oxygen. An awkward silence flooded the street, the echo of their steps almost deafening, as Claire felt a growing sense of amusement mixed with a mild irritation.

“Geillis and ye.” He finally said, his voice somewhat unhinged. “Do ye ever – I mean do ye –“

“What?!” She exclaimed, fazed. “ _Please_  tell me you  _are not_  seriously asking me if we had a make out session at some point.” Claire sternly halted on the pavement, biting the inside of her cheek in annoyance, the warm and ebbing sense of slight drunkenness totally discarded in favour of aggravation.

“I dinna mean – I just –“ Jamie desperately fumbled with his hair, thoroughly mussing up the red mass of soft auburn waves.

“Well. Have you and John kissed then?” She folded her arms and raised her brows, the image of irritated expectancy. “Because  _you two are friends_  and he is  _gay_. So, does that mean you have been allowing him to stick his tongue in your mouth? Did you suck -”

“ _Stop that_.” The male surgeon said pointedly, his palm touching her arm in admonishment, even if the contact was featherlight. “I dinna mean it like that, so dinna allow yer anger to make ye callous.”

“ _Callous_? Me?” Claire laughed brazenly, impatiently hiding her necklace inside her shirt, as if she could barely manage to look at something he had offered her in that moment. “Well,  _you_  are looking like a  _bigot_  and a  _chauvinist_  at the moment. I can’t believe ye’d be so damn basic, Fraser.”

“And ye are behaving like a  _mean-spirited child_.” He growled, brushing his face in utter frustration. “Always looking for an escape, aren’t ye? Waiting for the moment when I’ll prove ye right and make a mistake so ye can walk away?”

They glared at each other, both breathing fast and strenuously, two experienced sword players brandishing lethal words. It was easy to let go and remain angry, dive deep into that pool of dark satisfaction; stepping back from it demanded sacrifice, a quietness hard to achieve in a place where words flew everywhere.

“Tell me.”  Claire finally whispered, a long unwilling exhale escaping her nose. “Because Geillis  _championed_  you. She encouraged me to seek you when I wouldn’t for myself. She definitely deserves more than your prejudice.”

They stood on the outskirts of a small square, where their only witnesses were a couple of stray cats and a vigilant small bat, courting a solitary lamplight.

“I’d never begrudge ye any comfort or solace.” Jamie asserted, his voice unusually husky. “No matter  _who_ offered it to ye. Sometimes a kiss is just a kiss and sometimes a kiss is a tether to life.” He paused to breathe, looking longingly at the pale crescent moon. “And I know enough about love – specially when the easy choice would be to deny it - not to pass judgements on anyone. But I am flawed Claire – and I am jealous.”

“ _Jealous_?” Claire tilted her head in astonishment, searching his troubled blue eyes. “Are you serious?”

“Not of any touch ye might have shared. Although I take no pleasure in that thought.” He moved his shoulders under his clothing, looking mightily uncomfortable under her intense scrutiny, a light shade of pink tinging his high cheeks. “But ye trusted Geillis when ye wouldna trust anyone else. And I craved that, like a drug. Sometimes I was high on it and sometimes a harsh word away from blackness.”

“She has been a true friend when I probably deserved none.” Claire replied haltingly, her voice caught in her throat. Her previous anger had turned into something tender, almost too sensitive, on the verge of hurting. “To have someone know your dreadful and still cherish you – she is  _my best friend_.”

“I envied that intimacy.” He admitted, their eyes locking. “I feared I’d never make ye laugh until yer belly ached or see ye coming out of sleep. And if she had  _wanted ye,_  I couldna fault her at all.”

“It was never like that.” The tip of her fingers brushed some fine copper hairs away from his forehead, her skin cold and shivering with the pulse of his life. “Once you told me we were beyond words, you and I. I might tell her anything, but I’m not  _beyond words_  with her.”

“I am sorry.” He whispered, closing his eyes to better feel her tentative touch. She watched the flutter of his eyelashes, sandy and then almost black at the tips, as he swallowed hard. “I’ll try to be better, Claire.”

“For the record,” The female surgeon pressed her lips together. “I’m not  _her type_ , anyway. Nor is she mine.”

“Well,” Jamie offered cumbersomely, clenching his teeth. “John isna mine either.” His words had a soft intonation of hilarity, a peace offering hidden in his Scottish lilt.

The small ache between them was still throbbing, like a growing heart struggling to beat after a first impact. Claire could bid him farewell then, go home alone and find out in the morning that their fragile link had thinned because she had allowed it to starve to death. The alternative was to take the pain he had promised when he first offered her his truth and heart with it, savouring it in his company until the sour had turned sweet again in the back of her tongue.

“Would you come home with me tonight?” She eventually asked him gently, her forehead leaning against his in silent reassurance. He inhaled her greedily, heartbreakingly fearful that her scent would be her parting gift to him.

“Aye.” He sighed, his whole body relaxing. “I ken I’ve hurt ye tonight, Claire. Are ye sure?”

“You can make it up to me.” Claire smiled roguishly, placing her arm around his solid waist to pull him towards her apartment. “And then I can make you sleep on the couch, Fraser.”


	23. Chief of Surgery

##  **_Part XXIII – Chief of Surgery_ **

For the next few weeks, Jamie and Claire waded through the messy business of becoming two entities who had chosen to coexist peacefully, finding a space where their togetherness naturally complimented what they were as individuals.

Most days they met at one of their houses, a ritual made much easier whenever their schedules coincided at the hospital, arriving or leaving home at the same time. On occasion, they were the dawn themselves, a kiss of goodnight for one matched with a kiss of good morning for the other, all teeth and tongue and desire under the soft golden light. By tacit agreement, shared meals were always cooked by Jamie - having him in Claire’s kitchen, cooking with his hair still moist from the shower they had shared, had been almost as inebriating as his dishes.

Their conversations often turned to the work that made them the same, but occasionally they produced stories about their childhoods and traded heated opinions on the latest movie or hit song playing on the radio. But sometimes, deep into the night when words seemed weightless, they tentatively whispered dreams for the future into mouth, navel or chest - a summer roadtrip on the Italian coastline, a house with an herb garden, perhaps a cat named Adso to chase away flies and evil rodents -, the presence of the other on the fulfilment of such plans no more than an unspoken hope.

Each of those days felt like a miracle to Claire, a day of happiness stolen from the life of another woman. She secretly feared the day she would have to return all those glorious moments, when the mistake of such tentative joy would be found and duly corrected.

After a string of days sharing a bed, Claire would retract to spend a solitary night at her house, convinced that Jamie’s nearness would eventually swallow her whole.

Alone between her fresh sheets, the necklace around her neck like a promise of his touch, she pretended not to feel the acute pain of Jamie’s absence. In those moments she tended to entirely forget the irritation caused by him finishing the shampoo or listening to the telly too loud when she was preparing a challenging surgery, in favour of remembering the incredibly expensive preserves he had bought for her toast or the way his knuckles threaded on her soles after a long day, never complaining when inevitably she fell asleep halfway through his foreplay labours.

When they saw each other after those experiments on singleness, they were nervous and unusually tender. Their lovemaking was slow and thoughtful, kisses calculated to linger  _just enough_ ,  _not enough._   _A punishment for the longing, a teasing for the comeback._

With her cheek pressed against his thigh, Claire thought of all those things, struggling to calm down the frantic thumping of her heart. Jamie’s breathing filled in the quiet room, fast and superficial. His only half-hardened cock was next to her palm, warm and slightly moist from her failed efforts.

“I’m sorry.” Jamie whispered, his voice tense and supressed.

“It’s alright.” Claire lied wholeheartedly, caressing the soft hairs on his navel. She didn’t move to lay by his side, to look him in the eyes. “Do you want me to try to –“

“No.” He said decidedly, and she could hear the utter embarrassment – the bone-deep tiredness – in his voice. “I don’t think I –  _No_.”

She bit her tongue, furiously thinking of something clever or funny to say. Instead, Claire decided to go for the truth.

“Is this about the promotion?” She asked slowly, finally sliding up to lay her head in the pillow next to him. He was flushed from her attempts at arousing him with hands and mouth, probably even more so from frustration. “Me becoming Chief of Surgery?”

The offering had come as a surprise to her too. Chief Hildegard had called her to her office with piercing eyes and none of those polite preludes, announcing her desire to have Claire as her substitute as soon as she managed to sit down.

_“You can’t be serious!” Claire had answered with a dazed smile. “You have more energy than any of us combined, Doctor Hildegarde. And even if you really decided to quit being the Chief, there are plenty of more experienced and older surgeons who –“_

_“I’m not looking for a corpse or a puppet to replace me, Claire.” The older surgeon winced, slightly flaring her almost royal-looking nose. “I want a true doctor to direct this service, not a sycophant and certainly not a narcissist. While I’m sure I could do it for a while longer, I miss the simplicity of cutting without having to think of schedules or budgets.” She patted her hand reassuringly. “It has been either you or Fraser in my mind for a long time. In light of the recent events – well, it’s settled now.”_

_“Doctor Hildegard, I’m –“ Claire started, her voice slightly quivering._

_“Please, think carefully before giving your final answer.” The chief looked at her intently, as if she was trying to convey all the ramifications of a rushed answer. “Accepting the position will mean that you’ll have to enforce every rule in the surgical department and make some very hard decisions. It’s an overwhelming burden to bear, Doctor Beauchamp. You must commit with your full heart.”_

Claire had shared the news with Jamie in between small bites of olives, sitting on the kitchen counter as he cooked them an early dinner. His blue eyes had darkened, and in spite of a soft smile and a full kiss on her lips, Claire felt him recoiling.  _Retreating into himself_. During dinner he had eaten very little compared to his usual famished standards and talked even less. Experiencing a sense of blind urgency, she had lured him into bed only to realize her touch could not reach him for the night.

“I dinna ken.” Jamie answered slowly, reaching to touch her face with his palm. Claire flinched, aggravated by his deception.

“Don’t lie!” She almost hissed, her butterscotch eyes defiant. “Your mood changed completely as soon as I told you. And now you can barely touch me!”

“I wasna expecting it.” He conceded looking away from her, as she covered her exposed breasts with the coverlets.

“Well, I wasn’t either.” She pointed. “I didn’t exactly campaigned for it, _Fraser_. Do you  _resent_ me?” Claire demanded in a whisper.

“I could never resent your success, Claire.” Jamie’s eyes searched hers, truth battling with a kind of brokenness that almost took her breath away. “Ye are the best surgeon for the job. Only a fool would think differently.”

“Are you feeling – somehow – _emasculated_ by it?” The female surgeon tried, watching his outline as he quietly closed his eyes, brushing his forehead.

“I won’t be made less by ye being my boss.” He asserted in a hoarse voice, clenching his handsome jaw. “I’ll never be afraid of anything ye are,  _Needle_  – nor will I be intimidated by it.”

“But you are far away from me tonight.” Claire held his gaze, not daring to even blink.

“I’m far away from  _myself_.” Jamie whispered, sighing. “I am a man, made only greater by the rare woman I have beside me. But if I’m to be yer equal, I must have a purpose.”

“And you don’t?” She pressed. The fingers of his left hand delicately moved, tracing her clavicle until they touched her between her breasts, an act so intimate as touching her own heart.

“I’m serving as I should for what I did. But maybe I’m not doing enough.” Jamie’s lips brushed her temple, tickling her smooth skin. “The truth is I couldna bear to be inside ye tonight, for I dinna feel worthy of ye. I feel I am maybe less than I once was.”

“Not to me.” Claire swallowed hard, fighting back a surge of strong emotion. “Every day you are more –  _to me_.” She finished in an almost inaudible voice, rowing the little boat of her courage away from where the waves of fear awaited.  _Crushed_  by how precise, how overwhelmingly truthful, those words had become in the past few weeks.

“I’ll think of a way to reclaim what was lost.” He promised, offering an unsure smile. “In the meantime, it will be a true pleasure to watch ye bossing around everyone at the hospital,  _Chief Beauchamp_.”

“I haven’t even  _accepted_  it yet.” She replied nonchalantly.

“But ye will.” Jamie grinned, his fathomless blue eyes catching whatever light came from the street. “It’s yer destiny.”

“What about  _your_ destiny?” Claire nestled on the curve of his arm, painstakingly aware of his firm body, entirely naked beside her. An ache she would endure for the time being, since he clearly needed the comfort of her presence more than her body.

“Well, I can still manage a scalpel and work my way with a needle.” Jamie kissed the top of her head, caressing the long lines of her back and waist. “That’s something.”

“Oh yes, you do.” She kissed the hollow of his chest in return. “You can thread  _my needle_  any time, Fraser.”


	24. Keys

##  **_Part XXIV – Keys_ **

A graveyard shift on the eve of a holiday always meant to be plunged on a haze of belligerent drunkards and families on the verge of a nervous meltdown, as unsolved affairs and relentless criticism turned a saint into a potential killing machine. Claire dragged her tired body to Geillis’ house, hoping to deliver her forgotten cell phone before turning in to a blissful daytime nap. She could barely feel her legs at that point, and although the notion could be worrisome in another context, at the moment she felt incredibly grateful for it.

Claire enthusiastically buzzed on the door - almost gluing her finger on the doorbell since Geillis was probably deeply asleep at such an early hour - and waited for her friend to deign to appear, making impatient bubbling noises with her lips. There was a clear hustle inside the apartment and muffled grunting sounds, that could be mistaken with muffled laughter.

“Geillis?” Claire called out loud, leaning tiredly against the door. “I can hear you inside. Move that arse before I start messaging everyone on your contact list. I’m sure I’d find suitable photos for everyone.”

“Claire!” The redheaded woman opened the door, looking thoroughly awake if uncharacteristically dishevelled. Behind her was standing Louise, her cheeks massively blushed and her upper lip looking like it had been attacked by a vengeful bee. “Look who decided to join me for breakfast!” She nervously bit down her bottom lip. “What a coincidence!”

“ _Indeed_.” Claire raised her brows, throwing Louise an entirely mischievous look. “Fan of the  _Scottish breakfast,_  are you?”

“ _Bien sûr_.” The French surgeon fluffed her hair primely and grinned. “It is  _very_ tasty.”

“You know I’m not your mother.” Claire glanced at Geillis, folding her arms in amusement when confronted with her friend’s growing embarrassment. “I don’t have anything to do with  _who_  - erm,  _what_  - you eat. But you two are fooling  _no one_.”

“I wasna sure ye would approve.” The nurse raised her elegant chin, just slightly pointed on the edge, in a small act of defiance. “Ye ken I struggle with conventional relationships and I’m aware ye respect and cherish Louise verra much - I thought ye might be afraid I’d hurt her.”

“Ah, yes, because I have  _my shit_  so together.” Claire said ironically, the corners of her mouth trembling with mirth. “So I can go around passing judgement on my best friends, looking in disdain at them from my  _very_ high horse.”

“I told you Claire wouldn’t mind,  _ma moitié_.” Louise lovingly wrapped her arm around Geillis waist, kissing the side of her head where her hair flamed brighter. “She understands what is like - the business of caring for a redhead.”

“So ye really dinna mind?” Geillis insisted, looking intently at her long-time friend, her hand mindlessly searching for Louise’s. The way they moved together, gravitating around each other like two spellbound stars, sold their secret long before they were even conscient of their feelings. It made Claire yearn for Jamie, a sharp pain between her chest and abdomen, as if an entire new organ to accommodate him was stretching inside her.

“I only care that you make each other happy.” Claire said simply, feeling incredibly light-hearted. “As long as I don’t have to listen to Geillis making jokes all day about  _French kissing_.”

“ _Spoilsport_.” The nurse snorted. “Heading home are ye?”

“Yes.” Claire winked and waved them goodbye, already walking out the door. “I have my own  _Scottish breakfast_  to get to.”

***

When Claire realized Jamie wasn’t home, in spite of being barely past dawn, she might have cursed and kicked the door a little. Her lower back throbbed with a constant pinching sensation, her knees felt rigid and her stomach was making funny noises like a volcano in full-blown eruption. She longed for food, a shower, a bed and Jamie – for the time being in that  _particular_  order. They hadn’t exactly scheduled to meet, but it wasn’t unusual for her to appear uninvited after a night shift to eat scrambled eggs and cuddle lazily in bed.

Defeated, she resorted to sit on the doormat, the back of her head pressed against the door. The position was strangely comfortable and soon enough her brain was playing with the idea of sleeping, despite her half-sited situation.

“ _Beauchamp_.” She half-opened her eyes, being confronted with Jamie’s curious face peeking at her about two inches away from her own. “Why are ye sleeping on the floor, lass?”

“You weren’t here.” Claire yawned, slightly stretching her legs to get the circulation going again. Noticing his running clothes and sneakers, as well as the sweat which coated his temples, she furrowed her brow. “Seriously?! You  _disgust me_  Fraser.” He laughed and helped her getting up, gently patting her bottom in apology for the hardness of the floorboards. “Why can’t you be like most doctors, advising people to be healthy while you do nothing in that line yourself?”

“Ye’re cranky.” Jamie’s lopsided smile quickened her pulse just a little. “We must get ye to bed.”

“And we must get  _you_  to shower.” She gave him a quick peck on the lips, scrunching her nose. “You  _smell_ , Fraser.”

“There is a spare key just here, ye ken.” The redheaded man groped for the doorframe, presenting her with a small key firmly secured with tape. “I finally decided to leave one here after forgetting my keys at the hospital for the umpteenth time. I had to run there in the middle of the bloody snow more than once.”

“Oh, so, running is only good when it’s a  _volunteer_ thing?” Claire muttered, rolling her eyes, following Jamie to the cosy inside of the apartment. Knowing that her humour would be considerably enhanced by warm food and an infinite supply of orange juice and rich dark coffee, Jamie padded to the kitchen.

“I have another replacement key in a drawer somewhere.” Jamie turned his back on her, fishing for the eggs inside the fridge. His tone was deliberately casual. “I could get it for ye if ye want.” Noticing her silence, he glanced at her. Claire’s face was still, her eyes hesitant and fearful. “Yer purse is  _verra big_  and it’s a very  _small key_. Ye might even lose it in there and never find it again. But if ye want to keep camping on the landing, that’s fine too.”

There was an awkward silence between them, punctuated by Jamie’s efforts in whisking the eggs. The tips of his ears were a beautiful shade of pink.

“ _Hm_.” Claire finally hawked, busying herself with lining a couple of plates and mugs on the counter, as if preparing for a meticulous procedure. “I think I’ll just use the one you have hidden on the doorframe, whenever you decide to exercise in the middle of the night.” She moved to get forks and spoons from the dishwasher and kissed the sweaty back of his neck in passing, her lips warm in unspoken apology for her reservations.

“Fair is fair.” Jamie nodded and neatly served the plates with creamy, and slightly spicy, clouds of egg goodness. “How was the night?”

“Tough.” Claire grunted through a mouthful of food. “I thought I’d never see the end of it, to be honest.”

“Ye dinna need to work so much at the A&E now that ye are Chief, Beauchamp.” The male surgeon sipped his fragrant, sugarless, coffee. “No one would think ill of ye. Everyone kens it takes time to do the bureaucratic work.”

“I’ll manage.” She brushed her eyes, red-rimmed and puffy from exhaustion, and noticed a red brochure on the corner of the table. “What’s this?” Before Jamie managed to gulp down his toast and answer appropriately, she grabbed the small piece of literature.

“ _Doctors Without Borders_.” She read aloud, suddenly feeling that her food might decide to make an emergency exit from her body. “ _Recruits medical, administrative and logistical support personnel to provide medical care to people in crisis in more than sixty countries worldwide_ …” Claire swallowed hard, her fingers shaking. “ _To work in the field every applicant must meet the following general requirements._ ”

“It’s not –“ Jamie’s hand touched her cheek, his face creased with concern. “I thought I might do it… _before_.” He breathed deeply, searching her eyes. She understood he meant  _“When I became hopeless that you’d even want me.”_  “I asked them some questions then and they called me yesterday. They are recruiting surgeons to work in a field hospital in Syria. They seem to be in desperate need.”

“How long?” Claire asked in a whisper, forcing herself to look away from the sombre pamphlet, where a picture of a woman holding a starving child seemed to haunt her. They locked eyes and she saw Jamie’s anguish and concern, as well as the deep need to find himself again through his work.

“Three to six months.” He said in a hoarse voice, his other hand coming up to frame her face. “But  _I won’t_  –“

“ _You should go_.” She said softly, her palms open against the back of his hands, the lines of her hands –  _life, love, fate_  - pressed against his knuckles. When he started to shake his head in negation she insisted, feeling she was about to rip her own heart out. “This is it,  _isn’t it_? The way you find your purpose again.”

“What about us?” Jamie asked straightforwardly. “We are just getting used to each other. I can’t just leave ye. I won’t disappoint ye in such a manner, Claire.”

“Sometimes we have to disappoint others in order not to disappoint ourselves.” She smiled faintly, battling the urge to cry and beg him to stay. To wail like an orphaned child yet again, abandoned by love itself. “If you don’t go, there will come a time when you won’t recognize yourself, past the feelings you have for me.” Claire brushed her lips against his hand. “You’d have been lost  _because of me_. And you will  _resent me_  then.”

“It will be dangerous.” He pointed haltingly. Claire knew he had no fear in his heart, only an overwhelming sense of duty – but he would say these things, would turn the monsters flesh, just for her sake.  _To make sure she truly understood_. “It’s a war zone and even humanitarian facilities aren’t safe.”

“It’s a good thing you’re in such good shape, then.” She sniffed, hysteria building up on the bottom of her throat. She felt grossly inappropriate, but absurdity might be the only defence left against the images that blitzed her brain, coming directly from the headlines of news channels.

“But will ye wait?” Jamie pulled her chin up with his fingers, lightly forcing her to keep looking into his blue eyes. There would be no blue like that in the whole of Scotland once he left. “ _For me_?”

“You once told me you’d probably break my heart.” She leaned against him, her forehead against the musky curve of his neck. Claire spoke into his throat, like breathing the words deep into his lungs. “Maybe this is  _how_. But you promised you would  _mend it too_. I’ll wait for you to make good on that vow, Fraser.”


	25. And He Knows That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it - the last chapter. The tale of how Scalpel & Needle became Jamie and Claire is now complete. I couldn’t have done it without you all. Thank you!!!

##  **_Part XXV – And He Knows That_ **

Claire trashed against Jamie’s hands, his thumbs an extension of her hipbones, birds with open wings ready to take flight. “Make me _come_.” She whispered, her voice unhinged, seeming to form without the necessity of movement from her lips. “ _Please_ , Jamie.”

He had been teasing her – her body – for  _hours_. First with his cock, only to hold her steadily against his chest when she became frantic and wild, stopping her orgasm like cutting the stem from a growing sunflower. Then with featherlight touches, and Claire could have sworn she would reach completion just from the brush of his lips on her bellybutton. Eventually it was his mouth on her, famished, hot and questioning, and she wondered if the right answer would be surrendering or go on fighting in such delicious closeness. Jamie seemed hellbent on getting something from her - perhaps a different touch of her fingertips, perchance a word escaping her mouth amidst moans. In that moment, she would have given in anything –  _everything_ – for him to swallow her whole.

“Remember this.” Jamie whispered somewhere in the darkness of his bedroom. “Remember  _me_.” And he took her, right then and there, with open ferocity, cradling their madly beating hearts between their joined bodies.

In the darkest hours of night, Claire awoke to find him sitting on an armchair in the corner of the room, his sketch pad shakily balanced on his leg. He was drawing rapidly, and she couldn’t see his eyes in the deep shadows.

“What are you doing?” She asked groggily, feeling her body exquisitely overused. “Come back to bed.”

“ _Memories_.” He said huskily, and she could hear the soft smile on his full lips. “I’m making memories of ye.”

“I’m sure you have several photos of me in that phone of yours.” Claire was starting to feel cold now that his warmth had escaped her nakedness. “Mad curls, pointed years, fat arse – keep that in mind and you have it covered.”

“I have.” He agreed, slightly adjusting on the chair to get more light, coming in gently from the full moon over Edinburgh. His eyes became visible, intently moving between the paper and her body. “But I want this to be exactly as  _I_ see ye.  _This_  belongs to no one else, but me.”

His departure was scheduled for the next weekend, just four days away. Barely three weeks had passed between his decision and the deployment to Syria. From the corner of her eyes Claire could see the outline of his traveling backpack, sitting on the floor near the closet, awaiting just the final pieces of his life that could fit inside those pockets. Unfortunately, _she_  could not.

“Do you need me to buy you anything?” She slightly raised from the bed, her head braced on her hand. Her eyes surveyed the neatly folded t-shirts stamped with the  _Doctor Without Borders_  insignia, as well as a white vest. “You’ll be working almost until the eve of your departure.”

“Well…” He slowly raised his head and glared at her. His eyes looked almost black, a blue so deep the light could not reach. “There is actually something I need ye to do for me.” He raised from the chair, wearing only his underwear, and padded to the desk where he grabbed two envelopes. Slowly he came to sit next to her in bed, carefully examining his own handwriting. “I wrote a letter to my sister, Jenny, in case –  _well_ , ye ken.” Jamie shrugged slightly, a reluctant smile on his face. “We were both  _wrong_ and  _right_  in a sense. I’m a stubborn man, but there’s no honour in being stubborn in the afterlife. If I’m dead, the only important thing is for her to ken I loved her a great deal.” His thumb traced her bottom lip, so softly she almost bit him to feel him present. “I’m entrusting it to ye.”

“You should tell her all those things  _when_  you come back,  _alive_.” Claire framed his face with her palms, feeling the morning stubble prickling her smooth skin. “But I’ll keep the letter until then.”

“Thank ye.” He kissed her hand, his index finger lightly tracing her from temple to jaw. Everything about him was tender and vulnerable, raw like a wound barely scabbed over. “The other one is  _for ye_ ,  _Needle_. It all started with a letter, it seemed only right to end it that way too.”

“You _bloody_  fool.” Claire whispered, her eyes terribly attracted by the envelope, where Jamie had neatly penned in the front,

_To Claire_

_Beauchamp_

_Needle_

_And all the names I meant to call you (and did when you were sleeping)_

“If this is the way you’ve chosen to end things with me, you have  _terrible_ timing.” The female surgeon joked, regardless of the tear that was obstinately trapped in her eyelashes. “Because I already have my vengeance planned for you to suffer when you come back.”

“Aye.” He offered her a throaty laugh and kissed the corner of her mouth. She trapped her fingers in the auburn mass of his hair, keeping him close for a while longer. “And I plan to receive it,  _gladly_. But just in case – I wanted ye to know.” Jamie kissed her fully on the lips, his tongue playing with her upper lip. “Ye  _do know_ , don’t ye?”

“ _Yes_.” Claire breathed, pushing him down to the bed. “I do know.”

***

A day away from reports and OR schedules and close to patients and surgery was everything Claire craved, occupying her mind enough to help her forget Jamie’s impending departure. Decided to focus entirely on medicine for the day, she took a chart from the nurse’s station and headed for the small room to meet her new patient.

“Good morning!” She chirped pleasantly, her eyes still entirely focused on the chart. “How are you feeling today?”

“Is that  _you,_  Claire?” A fragile male voice answered back. Claire haphazardly looked up to meet an old man - his hair stolen from the wing of a crow, with skin the colour of dark honey and gentle brown eyes, filled with a quiet wisdom.

“ _Firouz_?” She gasped, the entire world feeling suddenly askew. Fearing she would collapse on the ground, her hand searched for support on the frame of the bed. “ _How_ – I thought you were in Istanbul!”

“And so I was.” He grinned, his wrinkled hands, like the skin of a plum, searching for hers. “I’ve missed you,  _Rohi_.”

“I’ve missed you too.” Claire whispered in a husky voice, hugging the man and inhaling his familiar scent of sandalwood and camphor. Although much thinner and older than she recalled, he felt  _exactly_ the same. “Too much time has passed since I last saw you. Why haven’t you warned me you were coming here?”

“Ah.” He bumped her nose, exactly as he did when she was young and under his care, sitting on the chaotic living room of Quentin Lambert’s house. “You’d start to fuss and worry about me and I didn’t want that, before you really had to.”

“What’s  _wrong_?” Seeming to finally realize he was laying on a hospital bed – and indeed the patient she was meant to consult – she reached for the chart. The man’s weak hand grabbed hers and stopped the movement.

“I have  _a bit_  of a cancer problem.” Firouz revealed with naturality, as if sharing he needed dental extraction. “It’s in my pancreas and a bunch of other places. The doctors in Turkey told me there was nothing they could do. So, I’ve decided to come.”

“I’ll call the head of Oncology to look at your scans.” Claire bit her bottom lip and frenziedly flicked through the papers which told his complete medical history. “Maybe there is an experimental trial that suits you and we –“

“That’s not why I came, _Rohi_.” He said vehemently, looking at her with a mixture of reproach and endearment. “I’m dying and one should be home for that. You are the closest thing I have left of a  _home_.”

“But  _you can’t_  –“ The female surgeon protested, but he grimaced and wiggled his tongue in defiance. She snorted and coughed, half choked with emotion.

“I’m pretty sure  _I can_  and  _will die_.” Firouz said softly, without any trace of anger or denial. “Mister Q is waiting for me. I’m sure he has been protesting in  _Jannah_ that no one polishes his shoes quite like me, for all these years.”

“That sounds like him.” Claire sniffed, brushing away a loose strand of curly hair. “So  _very British_  for a man of the world, even in Heaven.”

“You seemed different, my darling.” The servant’s inspecting eyes crossed her face and body, detaining on her Rod of Asclepius necklace, partially visible bellow her blue scrubs. “More open. Sharper too, but you don’t wield your blade with such recklessness anymore. There is a tenderness in there too.”

“Next you’ll be reading my coffee cup.” Claire rolled her eyes, pretending to be taken aback by his attentions.

“You were so angry the last time I saw you.” Firouz shared in a low voice. “So  _very angry_  – it broke my heart. It pained me that I couldn’t heal you.”

“Beauchamp, will ye –“ Jamie entered the room looking absorbedly at a printed X-ray, halting when he envisioned Claire sitting on the bed, her hands between the old man’s. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“That’s quite alright, young man.” The dark-haired man said cheerfully, motioning for Jamie to approach with his hand. “Do you work with my girl, then? Is she as brilliant as I think she is?”

“Most definitely, sir.” The redheaded man threw Claire an inquisitive look, confronted with the endearing words  _“my girl”._  “Our Chief is the best and fiercest surgeon I’ve ever met.” He told him, loyalty and respect dripping from his words.

“ _Suck-up_.” Claire grunted, but she smiled openly, nonetheless. “Fraser, this is Firouz Anvari. He worked for my uncle and practically raised me. I would probably have enlisted in a lifetime of boozing and shoplifting without him.”

“It’s a true pleasure to meet ye.” Jamie shook the man’s hand, his cobalt eyes limpid and eager.

“Firouz, this is James Fraser.” She blurted, feeling her cheeks throbbing with a growing flush. “He is…” Again, the necessity of labelling his meaning to her, in a way that was understandable for the rest of the world. The pull of him, above the blinding fear, calling to her louder than ever. “ _Mine_. He is  _mine_.” Claire completed softly. Jamie seemed pleasantly surprised and his whole demeanour was set alight, burning bright under the flame of her admission.

“ _Oh_.” The old man looked at the surgeon with renewed interest and nodded slightly. “It truly is  _my_ honour then, James Fraser.  _Claire’s_.” He smiled mischievously. “Please make sure to visit me when  _this one_  is not around, I’m sure we’ll have much to talk about.”

“I will.” Jamie laughed, squeezing Claire’s hand. His eyes searched hers and he nodded. “I have a patient I need to attend to. I’ll see you  _both_  later.”

Claire and Firouz were silent for a moment, calmly enjoying each other’s presence. The old man finally kissed the back of her hand and patted her cheek with a shaking hand. “Will you tell me about this man that is yours,  _Rohi_?”

“Well,” She licked her lips, searching for appropriate words. “He is a skilled surgeon. Stubborn as a mule, but not more than me. Jamie is brave and kind and sometimes infuriating because of those things. He is a  _very good_ lover.” She raised her brows naughtily and Firouz giggled. During her adolescent years, he had been her trusted confident and heard enough about tampons, make out sessions in the backseat of old cars and the quest for understanding her own body to be shocked at her boldness. “He is fearless. A man of honour. And he cherishes everything that I am.”

“Well, he sounds like the perfect match for you.” Firouz whistled, impressed. “Julia and Henry would be so impressed. And  _delighted_.”

“Would they?” Claire whispered, absentmindedly playing with the folds of the bedsheet.

“You are still afraid, aren’t you  _Rohi_?” The old man sighed and pulled her to him, so she was almost laying against his chest. She recalled vividly many nights when he had held her so, right after she had arrived at her uncle’s house, whispering stories of his distant home to make her forget her own lost one. “At first, I’m guessing it was the usual fear, but now it’s maybe something else, no?”

“I’m maybe a bit overwhelmed.” She conceded, peeking at him under her long lashes. “And incredulous, to be completely honest.”

“That a man could know you so and still love you?” He perceptively offered. She glared at him, annoyed with his capacities, and he laughed. “You remind me of your parents. Julia was the storm and Henry was only glad to dance in her rain and to clap along with her thunder. They were formidable together.”

“But they had so little time!” Claire protested, swallowing hard, but tears streamed down her face. She didn’t move to wipe them away – they were needed. They were there to cleave her open.

“Yes. And it was an unfortunate and unfair thing.” His voice was unhinged for a moment, remembering the people who had populated his past, so distant in time and so present in memory. “But you were loved by some extraordinary people, Claire. What a treasure to know such love, even if short-lived, rather than having people present who don’t know how to love you.” Firouz kissed the top of her head gently and cradled her like an oversized newborn. “Tell me about your happiness,  _Rohi_. And may I be carried away by it.”

***

Firouz Anvari died in the hour when owls take flight. His hand was inside Claire’s and she told him stories in a whispered voice; some about their mutual past, some that were private and present, and others she was yet to live. Even if painful, it was peaceful and wholesome as only the death of an immortal soul could be. While she would miss his kindness and insight, Firouz had departed confident in meeting his friends in the afterlife – and for that, she could not resent his journey.

Before she was able to form a full decision on where to go, Claire was at Jamie’s door. It was the middle of the night and he was certainly asleep; the only way he had agreed to go home and rest for the coming trip had been under the promise she would call him if anything happened to Firouz.

Claire groped for the key attached to the doorframe and used it to open his door, without waking him. For a moment she stood there, the slightly rusty and cold metal against her palm. Without a second thought, she placed the key inside her purse, and closed the door behind her.

Silently, she undressed and slowly laid down next to his sleeping form. Jamie looked peaceful and the corner of his mouth seemed to tremble in a half-smile when she touched his forehead.

Claire breathed deeply and felt the moment Jamie was coming awake, recognizing her presence, even with his eyes still fully closed. In a wordless instant he would understand the depth of her loss and make her pain his own; he would love her body without question, kiss away the stains of her soul, not caring if the taste left on his lips was entirely bittersweet.

For once it came to her.  _What to say._  There was still fear, to be sure – perhaps dread would always be there for her – but Jamie had given her a mountain where she could stand over her fear; perhaps see beyond the clouds of doubt, deep into the sunlight.

“ _I love you_.” She whispered.

 

##  _**Scrub Out** _


End file.
